Ties That Bind
by HonorH
Summary: Post-Gift, Dawn comes to L.A. So does Spike. So does Rebecca Martin-Pryce, Wesley's adventure-seeking niece. And they may not even be the worst of the Fang Gang's problems. Winner of the Summer/Fall 2002 Halo Award for Best Buffy/Angel Crossover!
1. Monday Arrivals

Disclaimer: All "Angel" and "Buffy" characters and concepts belong to Joss Whedon et al ****

Disclaimer: All "Angel" and "Buffy" characters and concepts belong to Joss Whedon et al. Rebecca Martin-Pryce, Sandra, Sarah Anne, Thia Matsoukis, and the Order of the White belong to me.

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Note 1: This is a direct sequel to my previous fic "Elegy for a Fallen Heroine" and a loose follow-up to "Dawn and the Dead." You don't need to read those two to understand this one (though I'd love it if you did). Important things: In "Dawn and the Dead," Dawn visited the Fang Gang and became good friends with them all. In "Elegy," Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia came to Sunnydale for Buffy's funeral. Angst and comfort was had by all, and the Fang Gang volunteered to look after Dawn for a week while Giles is in England. Got all that?

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Note 2: Thanks again to Tanja, Angst Girl Extraordinaire, and Gyrus, Action Guy Extraordinaire, my darling betas. Love you guys!

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Note 3: Thanks to Godiva, Leah Rosenthal, and JoMadge for the Bloody Awful Poems. You guys are both the best and the worst.

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Ties That Bind

by

HonorH

Prologue

A woman stood by a dark window, looking out on the city of Los Angeles. Her entire aspect was tense, that of someone watching and waiting.

Kate Lockley stepped quietly to her side and offered her a steaming mug. "How are you doing tonight, Sandra?" the ex-cop asked gently.

Sandra shook her head, accepting the mug of chamomile tea. "I think we're going to have to leave soon. We're never safe for long."

"You've only been here a week," Kate argued, voice still gentle as she gestured vaguely at the rest of the women's shelter they were standing in. "How could he have found you so soon?"

Sandra looked at the former cop through dark, haunted eyes. "He has ways. He can do things nobody else can. You don't know . . . if I told you, you'd never believe me."

Kate considered this, setting down her cup of tea, and followed an instinct. "I think you'd be surprised at what I'd believe." With that, she lifted her hair away from the right side of her neck, revealing the scar Angel had given her.

The other woman started, then leaned forward to examine and touch the vampire bite. Her eyes met Kate's, and Kate nodded once, confirming Sandra's realization.

"Why don't you tell me everything, Sandra? Start from the beginning."

For the next hour, Sandra did just that. Kate listened, occasionally asking a question for clarification. Finally, the story wound to a halt.

"This is where you tell me I'm nuts," Sandra concluded.

Kate shook her head. "No, Sandra. This is where I tell you I believe everything you told me." The other woman's eyes filled with tears of relief at being believed. Kate set a hand on her shoulder. "And this is also where I tell you I think I know someone who can help you."

***

Chapter 1: Monday Arrivals

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Dear Buffy,

I don't know why I'm writing to you instead of my diary. It's not like you can read this. Or can you? I don't know. Maybe Angel would. I wrote to Mom, too, after she died. I sort of think I might be a little crazy. It sure feels that way.

I'm going to L.A. with the Fang Gang. We're all in Angel's car right now. It's hard to write in a car, even with my booklight. Giles and Wesley decided I should go with them, since Giles isn't sure I'm really safe, even though Glory's dead. Did you know that? Ben died the night you did. Giles said something fell on him. I don't think I'm sorry.

Anyway, Angel's going to be my bodyguard while Giles is in England asking the Council if they know anything about me, you know, what I am. Spike says you asked him to protect me, but Giles doesn't trust him. I think that's a little unfair, since he got hurt so bad trying to save me, but you know Giles. So I get Angel. I don't mind that, though. I think I get why you loved him so much. How much do you want to bet I'll cry all over him again sometime this week? It's getting to be a habit.

__

I miss you so bad, Buffy. I'm scared. I don't know what's going to happen to me, and I have the worst nightmares. I feel Doc cutting me, and you're already dead, so you can't make it stop.

***

Dawn looked at the words she'd just written, then re-capped her pen, turned off her booklight, and closed her diary. She put all three away in her duffel bag.

Gentle fingers brushed through her hair. Dawn turned to look at Cordelia.

"You okay, sweetie?" asked the Seer.

Dawn shrugged, not trusting her voice. Feeling the need for physical contact, she took off her seatbelt, moved into the middle seat, re-belted herself in, and leaned on Cordelia's shoulder. Cordelia put an arm around the girl and squeezed her tight.

Wesley watched them in the mirror. "This will be an interesting week," the ex-Watcher noted.

Angel nodded, eyes on the road. "Dawn's got a lot of healing to do." He spoke too softly for anyone but Wesley to hear.

Wesley flicked him a glance. "So do you."

Angel didn't deny it. Neither spoke again until they pulled up outside the Hyperion an hour later.

As he turned the car off, Angel turned around to speak to Cordelia.

"Cordy, are you planning to stay here this week?"

Cordelia looked down at Dawn, leaning against her shoulder and staring at nothing. "Yeah, I am."

"Want to take my car to your place?"

"Yeah. I'll need a few things, and I'll need to let Dennis know where I am before he starts to worry. Thanks, Angel."

All four unloaded from the car. Cordelia handed off Dawn to Angel, who put a protective arm around the girl's shoulders, and then the Seer got behind the wheel and drove off to her apartment. Wesley, Angel, and Dawn headed into the Hyperion.

Gunn greeted them as soon as they entered. "Glad you guys are back." He looked at Dawn.

"She's staying with us this week, as Giles is in England," explained Wesley.

"That's cool. Hey, Squirt. You doing okay?" Dawn shrugged. "No problem. I get it." Gunn turned his attention to Angel and Wesley. "Three things. First: Wolfram & Hart didn't come by, but they did send Angel a love note. It's in the office." Angel rolled his eyes with an impatient sigh. "Second: Kate Lockley has a new job and thinks she's got a case for us. I told her you'd be back tomorrow. Third . . ."

"Uncle Wesley!"

Gunn jerked a thumb in the direction of the office, where the hail had come from. "That's the third thing."

Angel looked at Wesley, whose jaw was on the floor, then at the office door. A young woman of perhaps eighteen or nineteen was just emerging. She was tall, nearly as tall as Angel himself, and very slim. Her hair was light brown, her skin fair, and her eyes the same blue-gray as Wesley's. She wasn't exactly pretty, but her features were fine-boned and aristocratic, which lent her a sort of attractiveness. Her clothes—slim-fitting camel-colored slacks and a navy blue silk blouse—were tailored and professional. She was also projecting near-frightening enthusiasm.

"Dear Lord in Heaven," breathed Wesley. "Rebecca?"

The girl walked over, her movements swift and athletically graceful. "Am I a surprise, Uncle Wesley?" She had exactly the same accent as Wesley once had, before a few years of Americanization had blunted it.

"To say the least." Wesley shook his head as if to clear a hallucination. "Angel, this is my niece, Rebecca Martin-Pryce. Rebecca, this is Angel and . . ."

"You're Angel?" Rebecca interrupted before Wesley could introduce Dawn. She made for the vampire, holding out a hand. Angel took it, a little unsure of what to make of her. "It's such a privilege to meet you. I've learned everything, absolutely everything I could about you. Would you spar with me sometime? I've never been tested against an actual vampire, let alone one of your age and skill. I did beg Madeleine, my Watcher, to let me, but she never allowed it."

"Your Watcher? Don't only Slayers get those?" asked Dawn.

Rebecca started, as if she'd been unaware of Dawn's presence. "Not precisely. I was a Slayer-in-Waiting. We get our own Watchers, too."

Dawn's forehead crinkled. "What's a Slayer-in-Waiting?"

Rebecca pulled herself up proudly. "The Council of Watchers seeks out girls with the potential to be Slayers and trains them against the possibility one of them will be Called when the current Slayer dies. I was trained from the time I was eleven until my eighteenth birthday. It's common knowledge that a Slayer who's been trained before her Calling lives far longer than one who hasn't."

"Buffy was never a Slayer-in-Waiting," Dawn argued. She knew for a fact that Buffy had never even suspected there were vampires until Merrick had accosted her outside Hemery High on her fifteenth birthday.

"Buffy Summers? Well, there are always exceptions." Rebecca shrugged. "Personally, I think it's a miracle she's lasted as long as she has."

Angel and Dawn both flinched visibly, and Angel's arm tightened around the girl. Wesley cringed.

"Rebecca," he said quietly, "Buffy Summers just died. This is Dawn, her sister."

"Oh." The British girl blinked. "Hard luck, that."

After a moment of awkward silence, Angel steered Dawn toward the stairwell. "I'm going to get Dawn settled into her room," he said as they left.

Rebecca turned to her uncle as soon as they were gone. She seemed to sense she'd stuck her foot in it, but plunged gamely on. "I'll bet you can't guess what I'm doing here, Uncle Wesley."

"As a matter of fact, I've no idea. When did you arrive, anyway?"

"Just this afternoon. Mr. Gunn said he didn't know when you'd be back, so I decided to wait here." Rebecca leaned in, lowering her voice. "There's a very strange girl about."

"Yes, we're aware of Fred."

"She's positively bizarre." Rebecca shook herself. "But can you guess why I'm here?"

Wesley was beginning to tire of this. The past few days had been emotionally exhausting, to say the least. "As I said, Rebecca, I've no idea. I had no idea the Martins were even acknowledging my existence since I was kicked out of the Watchers."

"The Martins aren't. Some of the Pryces still mention your name, though." Wesley winced. "It was at a dinner party a few months back that Courtland Pryce mentioned what you're doing. It was almost my birthday, and I knew that if I wasn't Chosen, I'd be removed from the rolls of the Slayers-in-Waiting. I'd been considering taking training as a Watcher—Madeleine told me she'd sponsor me—but when I heard about you working with Angel, the vampire with a soul, here in Los Angeles, just two hours away from the Hellmouth—why, Uncle Wesley, it was like fate."

Wesley had a sinking feeling. "Fate?"

Rebecca threw her arms wide, beaming. "I'm here to join you, Uncle Wesley. I want to fight evil—just like you!"

***

As Angel and Dawn gained the top of the stairs, a slim, small figure emerged from the darkness. It was Fred. She was wearing the same skirt she'd come back from Pylea in, but paired with one of Angel's shirts. Her long brown hair was flowing loosely over her shoulders, looking a bit damp. One sniff told Angel she'd recently showered. The young woman was fidgeting unconsciously, playing with her own fingers.

"Hi," she said. "I was wondering when you'd come back. I mean, Gunn told me you'd be back, but I wasn't sure when, and time's so hard to tell. There's that girl downstairs, and my, but can she chatter."

Angel took the abrupt change of subject in stride. He knew it would be some time before Fred's social skills reasserted themselves—if they ever would. Five years in Pylea had left her a little unhinged. Only time would tell if her mind could heal.

"Fred, I'd like you to meet Dawn," he said. "Dawn, this is Fred. Dawn's going to be staying with us for a week."

Fred waved with a few fingers. "Sweet little thing. Why's she flickering in and out, though?"

"I'm not real," Dawn said quietly.

"Oh!" Fred giggled nervously. "I didn't know. I try not to talk to people that aren't there, but it happens all the same. Least you're honest about it."

"Dawn's real," Angel corrected hastily. "She's real, and very special."

"I guess that makes it better." Fred nodded. "There she is again."

"How are you doing, Fred?" asked Angel.

"I'm good as gold. I took a lot of showers, and slept in a bed, and Gunn got me tacos. He's real nice. And no monsters. That's nice, too." She squinted at Dawn. "Did you know she sparkles?"

Angel decided it was time to break this off. "Actually, I didn't. Dawn's tired, so . . ."

"She needs to get to bed. Just when she was getting solid, too. G'night, sweet thing." Fred wandered off down the hall. Dawn watched her go, then turned to Angel.

"She's crazy, isn't she?"

Angel resumed walking, his arm still loosely around Dawn. "She spent five years in a demon dimension. It'll take her awhile to recover."

Dawn took this in. "Crazy people can see me. I mean, what I really am."

They reached the room Dawn had stayed in last time she'd been in L.A. Angel went and found some bedding, and when he returned to the room, he helped Dawn make the bed. As soon as the task was finished, Dawn turned and looked out the window, her face pensive and sad. Angel joined her.

"I feel like things aren't going to get better," she said after a moment, eyes filled with tears. "Not ever."

Angel cupped her face with one hand and brushed back her hair with the other, forcing her to look at him. "I know how it feels, Dawn." He looked into her eyes, allowing her to see the pain in his own. "It will get better, though. Not right away, but it will." He leaned forward, brushing her forehead with his cool lips. "Sleep now. Everything will be all right. I promise."

***

In an alley near the Hyperion, a hotwired car came to a stop. Its occupant lit a cigarette and looked up at the imposing structure.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Little Bit," he said. "Spikey's here."

***

Cordelia entered the Hyperion and was surprised to find Wesley in the middle of a discussion with a tall, skinny, rather plain girl.

"Do your parents know you're here?" the ex-Watcher was asking.

"They . . . know I'm in America," the girl hedged in an English accent. Under Wesley's stare, she caved. "They think I'm staying with a friend and visiting Disneyland and perhaps doing some hiking." The words came out in a rush.

"Rebecca . . ." Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose like he was developing a bad migraine. "You should have at least called before just dropping in."

"I did call," the apparent Rebecca protested. "I tried calling several times, as a matter of fact, but I didn't get anyone, and time was running short, so I decided to simply show up and take my chances. Don't make me go back to England, Uncle Wesley."

Uncle Wesley? Cordelia was suddenly very much looking forward to the explanation for all this. She cleared her throat. Wesley and Rebecca looked at her.

"Hello," greeted the British girl cheerfully. "Are you Uncle Wesley's girlfriend?"

Cordelia snorted. "As if."

"Rebecca, this is Cordelia Chase," Wesley interjected. "Cordelia, this is Rebecca Martin-Pryce, my niece."

Angel chose that moment to re-enter the lobby. Cordelia spotted Gunn, who rolled his eyes and shook his head, pointing at Rebecca. Cordelia nodded her agreement. The British girl failed to notice the by-play.

"So what's happening?" asked the vampire

"I'm going to be working with you," announced Rebecca.

Wesley choked. Angel grunted. Gunn coughed to cover a laugh. Cordelia frowned.

"Excuse me?" The Seer eyed Wesley. "Isn't my paycheck small enough without the nepotism?"

"There's no nepotism!" Wesley turned to his niece, frazzled. "Rebecca, Cordelia is quite correct. We simply haven't the resources to take on another employee at this juncture."

Rebecca made a brushing-off gesture. "Oh, don't worry about that. I've got my own money. You could take me on as an intern for now. We can discuss a permanent position later."

"But University," argued Wesley. "Your parents. Your whole life is in England."

"Like any good English girl, I'm taking a year off before going to University," Rebecca replied. "As for my life in England, it's going to be profoundly boring now that I'm no longer a Slayer-in-Waiting. I want adventure, Uncle Wesley. I want to fight the good fight, combat the forces of evil, kill demons and vampires—present company excepted, of course—and I want to do it in America. Or anyplace outside of England. Please let me stay, Uncle Wesley. I swear I'll make myself useful."

Wesley looked at Angel, who shrugged. Gunn had the aspect of one who wouldn't touch the current discussion with a ten-foot pole. The ex-Watcher's pleading eyes found Cordelia next.

Cordelia shook her head. "Whatever is fine with me. I'm going upstairs to settle in and check on Dawn." She shouldered her duffel.

"You going to bed?" asked Gunn.

"Not even," said Cordelia. "Angel and I slept all day."

Gunn turned that one over in his brain. "You and Angel slept together?"

Rebecca looked puzzled. "I was given to believe Angel was a eunuch."

"What?!" Angel let out an explosive breath. "Why does everyone think sex has something to do with my curse?"

Wesley groaned. "Now you've gotten him started."

Cordelia looked at Gunn. "In a strictly platonic, too-tired-to-do-anything sense, gutterbrain."

"Sex has nothing at all to do with it," Angel continued to protest.

Rebecca winced. "Sorry. I just heard a rumor . . ."

Gunn glanced from Cordelia to Angel. "Huh. Having a mental image here."

"Don't do that," Cordelia begged.

"Does everyone here really think I spent an entire century celibate?" Angel demanded.

"It's one of those things I prefer not to contemplate," said Wesley tiredly.

"In full agreement here," added Cordelia.

"I'll third that," said Gunn.

Angel, unfortunately, was in full rant mode. "I mean, what kind of sick mind thinks sex is ultimate happiness?"

"Every guy in America?" offered Gunn.

"I think Angel's point has been made." Cordelia turned and headed away. "You people can finish this. I'm going." She started up the stairs.

Angel flopped on the couch, muttering, "Not a eunuch. Not by half."

Rebecca turned back to Wesley, forcing a smile. "So. Can I stay?"

***

Cordelia shook her head as she reached the top of the stairs. To think she'd thought things would get less crazy once they got home after their adventures in Pylea . . . 

"Dawn?" She knocked on the door once, then turned the knob. "It's just me, Cordy. I'm coming in. Hope you're not naked."

The door swung inward, revealing the room, and Cordelia entered. Then stopped dead. Dawn was sitting on the room sofa, chatting happily . . . with Spike.

"Miss Cordelia!" The blond vampire seemed delighted to see her. "Do come in. Wish you were naked."

"Spike!" Dawn chided, and giggled.

Cordelia considered her options and settled on what she thought was the best course of action.

"Angel!" she shouted.

She'd only meant to call up Angel and perhaps Gunn, as Wesley seemed preoccupied. However, the room was promptly invaded by literally everyone in the hotel, including Fred and Rebecca.

"Who's he?" asked Fred.

"Spike." Angel's voice was low and deadly.

"Peaches!" Spike seemed even more delighted to see his sire.

"Spike's here," announced Dawn, rather unnecessarily.

"Who's Bleach Boy?" asked Gunn.

"Dear Lord in Heaven," murmured Wesley for the second time that night.

"Spike? As in William the Bloody?" asked Rebecca. "How amazing! Leandra Taylor wrote her thesis on him. Fascinating reading. 'Slayer of Slayers: the Lives of William the Bloody.'"

Spike looked flattered. "Want me to autograph your copy, luv?"

"Spike says he's going to stay here, too," said Dawn.

"Is that so?" Angel was leveling a force-five glare at his grandchilde.

"No. No. No. No way," said Cordelia.

"Cordy!" Dawn was put out. "I want him to stay."

"Wow," commented Fred, looking around.

"Dawn wants me to stay," noted Spike smugly.

Cordelia folded her arms. "Dawn wasn't here during your last visit. Remember what happened then?"

Spike grinned wolfishly. "Just a little family bondage."

That did it for Angel. He strode forward and grabbed Spike's arm. "Excuse me. I need to have a word or two with this young man. Come along, William." He pushed his way out of the room, Spike in tow. Wesley, whose headache was now visible, resignedly followed, Rebecca close on his heels.

Gunn looked at Cordelia. "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"He's my friend," insisted Dawn. She turned on Cordelia. "I want him here. Why'd you have to say no?"

Cordelia set a hand on Dawn's shoulder. "Look, I know he helped you and everything, but the last time Spike was in town, things got really ugly, and it was completely his fault." She sighed. "I'll go with whatever Angel and Wesley say, though. Okay?"

Dawn seemed mollified. "Okay."

Gunn was getting tired of being ignored. "I repeat: who is this guy?"

"Spike's a vampire," Cordelia explained. "He was turned by Drusilla. Remember her?"

"I thought we were finished with this Vamp Brady Bunch crap. Why aren't we staking him?"

"Gunn!" Dawn was horrified.

"Calm down, Dawn. We're not staking Spike because some government ya-yas put a microchip in his brain that keeps him from eating humans. Besides, he tried to help Dawn because he fell for Buffy and . . ." Cordelia trailed off with a gesture. "Really complicated story."

Gunn stared at her, uncomprehending, for several moments, then shook his head and turned around to leave. He found himself face-to-face with Fred.

"Sometimes, you just can't stop it from raining on a Sunday," the young woman observed sagely.

Gunn had to laugh. "Makes about as much sense as the rest of it. How about some hot cocoa, Fred?"

Fred eagerly assented, and Gunn guided her from the room.

***

Angel more or less dragged a protesting Spike downstairs to the lobby, then shoved him up against the wall and glared at him for a solid minute.

One question finally won out among the multitude running through Angel's head. "How'd you get here, Spike?"

Spike shrugged, no easy task as he was pinned against the wall. "Stole a car."

"About what I expected. And then you what, climbed in Dawn's window?"

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Spike. "I climbed in yours."

He was thumped against the wall again for that. "Next question: Why are you here?"

Spike went dead serious. "I'm here to protect Little Bit. Just like I said I would."

"I can do that myself, Spike," Angel ground out. "You're not needed. You're not wanted."

"Really? Tell me, what's going to happen to her when you're hiring off on one of your heroic quests? One of your friends—your _human_ friends—is gonna protect her against all the nasties in this city?" Spike shook his head. "Doesn't work that way, Peaches. You know it, I know it."

"They're better than you know. Like I said, Spike—you're not needed."

"Oh, but I am," Spike contradicted. "And I'm staying. Now, I can either stay here, or I can lurk about where you can't keep an eye on me. Which will it be?"

"How do you know I won't just stake you now?"

"Because you wouldn't stake me just for wanting to protect Dawn."

Angel knew that was the truth—and a very good point. He sighed, looking at Spike, then turned to look at Wesley (and Rebecca, hovering just behind him). Wesley spread his hands wide.

"Do I look like I'm in control of the situation?" asked the ex-Watcher, exasperated. "If you're willing to keep an eye on him, he can stay."

Angel turned back to Spike, leaning even closer. "All right, Spike. You can stay. Let's discuss the ground rules." He pointed at Wesley. "Wesley is your boss this week. He tells you to jump, you need to be in the air before you even ask him how high. You will not make us guess where you are. You will let someone here know where you're going if you leave the hotel. You will be issued a cell phone, which you will keep charged and turned on, and you will answer it when we call you. You will not, however, use it to make any calls of your own unless they are to us.

"Now to your personal behavior. No telling Dawn scary stories. No swearing around Dawn. No smoking around Dawn. No smoking in the lobby. No smoking around anything flammable. No drinking all the blood in the fridge. No getting drunk. No playing of mind games. No making of lewd suggestions to Cordelia. No spooking of Fred. You will be unfailingly polite to all employees and clients of Angel Investigations. You will be on whatever passes for your best behavior." Angel leaned in until his lips brushed Spike's ear. "Or I will make what you did to me last time you were in town look like foreplay. Understood, me boyo?"

The last words were spoken in a soft Irish lilt that made Spike's skin crawl. Not that he was about to show any kind of fear.

"Perfectly," sneered the younger vampire.

Angel let him go. He turned to find Wesley at the lobby coffee table, doing something with a crossbow that had been lying on it.

"Spike," said the ex-Watcher, "I'd like to reiterate what Angel said, but I'm tired of talking."

With one smooth motion, Wesley lifted and fired the crossbow. Spike did a double-take as he realized the bolt had pinned a cockroach to the wall only a few feet from where the vampire was standing—and Wesley was a good twenty feet away.

"Jolly good shot, Uncle Wesley," cheered Rebecca.

Wesley's flinty eyes were still on Spike. "Do I make myself understood?"

"Perfectly," repeated Spike. Only this time, his voice held a good deal more respect.

Angel smirked at Spike, then walked over to Wesley. "Dawn's here. Your niece is here. Spike's here. And Kate's got a case for us. Remember what you said about this being an interesting week?" the vampire murmured just loud enough for Wesley to hear.

Wesley nodded tiredly. "It looks like it will be—in the finest Chinese curse sense of the word."


	2. Tuesday, the Fang Gang Gets a Case

Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Tuesday, the Fang Gang Gets a Case

__

Dear Buffy,

Spike's here. He just showed up last night, and Angel and Wesley are letting him stay. I don't think Cordy or Gunn are happy. I am, though. Now I've got two vampires guarding me. Maybe that'll stop the nightmares.

I wish Cordy had stayed with me last night. She said she slept most of the day, so she wasn't tired, but I think maybe if she'd stayed with me, I would've been able to sleep better. It took me forever to go to sleep, and then I kept waking up. I had that nightmare again, the one about Doc. Sometimes, when I wake up from that one, it feels like I can't breathe. I have to lay real still, and after awhile, it goes away. It's scary. I really think I'm going crazy.

Speaking of crazy, there are two new people here. One is Wesley's niece, Rebecca something-Pryce. I don't think I like her. Did you know about the Slayer-in-Waiting thing? The Watchers kept girls to replace you, and Rebecca was one of them. She said it was a miracle you lived as long as you did. Can you believe that? The other person is Fred. She's a girl, and she's crazy. She can see me. What I am, you know?

I wonder, if I went crazy, could I see the real me in the mirror?

***

"What's he on about?"

Cordelia literally jumped away from the London accent that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "No invading the personal bubble, Spike," she ordered.

"Awfully picky for a girl who used to chew on Xander's lips," Spike shot back. "What's me old sire muttering about in there?" He nodded toward the office.

"He just opened a letter from Wolfram & Hart," Cordelia explained. "They're evil lawyers who want to take over the hotel. Angel doesn't like them, and the feeling is very, very mutual."

Angel exited the office, letter in hand. "I can't believe even Wolfram & Hart would stoop this low. They're threatening to sue me if I don't allow them to inspect the premises at their leisure."

"Do they happen to mention just when they're planning on dropping by?" asked Cordelia.

Angel shook his head. "Hopefully not this week. No smoking in the lobby, Spike."

Spike disgustedly tucked the cigarette he'd been about to light behind his ear. "Think I'll go up to the eighth floor. Unless you don't want me smoking around the rats, that is."

"Eighth floor's fine." Angel was still distractedly perusing the letter. "Just try not to burn down the hotel. If you do . . ." He trailed off and gave a laugh. "Burn the place down, and Wolfram & Hart can have it."

The phone rang. Angel went to answer it. After a short conversation, he re-emerged from the office.

"Kate's coming by with a potential client at one," he told Cordelia. "She says to tell you that she's even got a budget to pay us out of."

Cordelia perked up noticeably at that. "I always did like her."

Angel rolled his eyes. "I'm going to call Wesley and let him know." Wesley had taken Rebecca back to his apartment the previous night. "Is Dawn up yet?"

"She was showering when I checked on her," said Cordelia.

Dawn chose that moment to come down the stairs. "Morning," she said. She looked tired to Cordelia's eyes.

"Mornin', Platelet," greeted Spike.

"New rule, Spike: no referring to Dawn as any sort of blood cell." Angel turned back to Dawn. "Hey, Dawn. There are pancakes in the breakfast nook."

She gave him a minimal smile and headed there. Spike looked interested.

"Pancakes? With real butter and maple syrup?" He started after Dawn.

Angel's hand stopped him. "Food is for people, Spike."

Spike batted Angel's hand away. "Fine. I'll just have a little cuppa while I keep Dawn company. Got a problem with that?"

Angel let him pass, then suddenly grabbed the younger vampire's wrist and yanked the unlit cigarette out of his hand. "I remind you: no smoking around Dawn." Spike walked away, muttering. "And no swearing, either," Angel called after him. The elder vampire turned to find Cordelia grinning.

"Just think about all that bad karma you're going to work off this week," the Seer said.

***

Just before one o'clock, Kate Lockley entered the Hyperion. With her were two others, Sandra Burnham and her daughter, Sarah Anne. Sandra was a twenty-eight-year-old woman with reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was slim, too, but not in a healthy way. "Underweight" was more the correct word; it looked like she hadn't been eating well for far too long. Aside from her unhealthy weight and the worried pinch between her eyes, though, she was remarkably attractive. Sarah Anne was five years old, a beautiful child with her mother's hair color and blue eyes. She clung to Sandra's hand and looked around wonderingly at the Hyperion as they came through the doors. Both mother and daughter had a distinctly nervous way about them.

As Kate looked into the lobby, she saw a few figures she recognized. One was Cordelia, standing at the main desk flipping through a magazine. As soon as the Seer saw Kate, she headed for the office and announced Kate's presence to someone inside. The other person Kate recognized was Dawn. They'd met when Dawn had stayed at the Hyperion a few months earlier. The girl was sitting on the lobby couch reading a book.

Standing just behind the couch, apparently reading over Dawn's shoulder, was a person Kate didn't recognize at all. He was a young man, not bad-looking, dressed in black and sporting a shock of white-blond hair. He also had an aura, for lack of a better word, that made Kate instinctively mistrust him. Both he and Dawn looked up as Kate and her party entered.

"Hey, Kate," said Dawn. It struck Kate that there was something terribly wrong with the girl, but the former cop couldn't put her finger on what made her think that.

"Hello, Dawn," Kate said. Her gaze strayed back to the young man, who was blatantly sizing her up. Yes, he most definitely made her nervous.

It was a relief when Angel and Wesley exited the office. Gunn, too, appeared from somewhere. Wesley was trailed by a young woman Kate didn't recognize.

Wesley strode forward, Angel just behind him, and offered a hand to Kate. "Hello, Ms. Lockley." Angel, too, shook her hand and greeted her.

Kate looked at Wesley. "Wesley, please just call me Kate. I think we know each other well enough by now." She gestured toward her company. "I'd like you to meet Sandra Burnham and her daughter, Sarah Anne. Sandra, these are Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn." She looked at the young woman shadowing Wesley.

"Hello," said the girl, holding out a hand. "I'm Rebecca Martin-Pryce. I'm an intern." She seemed most proud of herself.

Angel, meanwhile, had taken one look at Sarah Anne and gone over to have a quiet word with Dawn. The teen gave a nod of assent to whatever Angel said, set down her book, and followed him back over to where Kate was.

Kate also noted that the white-haired man was making a slow circuit of the room, eyes still on her.

Angel hunched down in front of Sarah Anne. "Hi, Sarah Anne. I'm Angel." He gave her his best smile. Sarah Anne leaned shyly on her mother and mumbled a greeting. "Sarah, I'd like you to meet my good friend Dawn," Angel continued. "Dawn, do you think you could take Sarah to see the flowers?"

Dawn stepped forward. "Hi, Sarah. Want to come with me?"

Sandra got down to eye level with her daughter. "Go with Miss Dawn, Sarah Anne. Mama's going to talk with these people for a while." She kissed Sarah Anne's forehead, and the girl took Dawn's hand. The two left in the direction of the courtyard.

"Who're you, luv?" asked a voice in Kate's ear.

She turned to discover the white-haired man had somehow come up right behind her without her hearing him. He had a working-class English accent, and the way he was looking at her was very disturbing.

"Kate Lockley," she said in her best "I'm a cop, don't mess with me" voice. "Who are you?"

His eyes had tracked to Kate's neck, and his teeth flashed in a wicked smile at what he saw. "You can call me Spike. I'm part of Angel's happy family."

Angel strode forward and grabbed Spike's arm, yanking him a few feet away for a sotto voce conversation. "Spike. Client. Get lost."

Spike flicked a glance back at Kate and grinned viciously. "I recognize that mark on honey-blonde's neck. What is it with you and the chomping of blondes? Oedipus complex?"

"That why you changed your hair, William?" Angel shot back.

"Poofter." He pulled his arm free of Angel's grasp. "All right, I'll get gone. Where's the telly in this place?"

"We don't have one."

"What?" Spike demanded. "It's almost time for 'Passions,' and they're in the middle of a very serious situation."

"I don't care," stated Angel. "Find something to amuse yourself with. Chase rats on the eighth floor. Hunt down some secret passages. Take a long walk in the sunlight. Just don't bother the clients."

"And don't feed the animals." Angel glared. "Did I see a radio in the breakfast nook?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll go help Dr. Laura while you do the hero thing." The blond strutted out.

Angel shook his head, catching Kate's eye. "There's one in every family," he said dryly. "Let's talk in the office."

Inside the office, coffee was served and everyone took seats.

"Kate, I understand you have a new job," said Wesley by means of getting the conversation rolling.

The former cop nodded. "Yes. It's kind of funny how it happened. A woman I'd once helped press charges against her abusive husband contacted me just out of the blue. She'd started a women's shelter, and when she heard I was out of work, she offered me a position as assistant director. I decided to try it out, and I've been working there for about a month now." She glanced at Sandra. "It's not at all easy, but it can be very satisfying."

"Understandable," concurred Wesley.

"Most of the monsters I worry about nowadays are of the human variety," Kate went on. "In Sandra's case, though, I think it goes a little beyond that. We're both hoping you can help her."

Wesley turned his gaze on Sandra. "We shall certainly try."

Kate, too, turned to Sandra. "Why don't you tell them what you told me, Sandra? The whole story."

Sandra took a deep breath, gazing nervously around. "It's a little unbelievable," she warned them. Her voice held a soft Southern accent, subtly different from Fred's.

Cordelia, seated on Sandra's other side, waved her hand. "Don't worry about that. The unbelievable is a daily thing around here."

Somewhat reassured by this reaction, Sandra began her story.

"When I was twenty-one, I met my future husband, Andrew Burnham. This was back in my home state of Virginia. He was handsome, well-off, intelligent—I fell for him right away, and he fell for me, too. We had a whirlwind courtship and got married barely a year after we met for the first time.

"At first, everything was wonderful. Andrew provided me with everything I could ever want. I didn't question how; I just assumed he was making good money at his consulting job. When Sarah Anne came along, life seemed perfect."

Sandra paused a moment, taking a sip of her coffee. "There were things—things I noticed, but never knew what to make of. For instance, sometimes I'd look in the fridge and notice we had no milk, and I'd tell Andrew. He'd say sure, there was milk, just look again. And when I opened the fridge again, there it was. Or I'd be looking for something, and I'd tell Andrew, and he'd go right to it. Once in a while, too, I'd catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, something that didn't look . . . right. But when I'd try and see what it was, it would be gone. Or I'd feel presences in the house when no one else was there except maybe Sarah Anne. But I'd just dismiss all of those things, because they were impossible, right?"

"Denial," said Cordelia. "It happens a lot."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sandra looked down at her coffee. "Then, one day, there was a hurricane warning. We had a beach vacation house, but we lived far enough inland that we didn't have to evacuate. Andrew got this really strange look in his eye. He told me to stay inside with Sarah Anne, stay in the basement, and he was going to take care of something. The way he said it frightened me, but I did as he told me.

"When the storm passed and I saw Andrew again, he looked like hell. But our house hadn't lost a single shingle, none of our trees had fallen—we hadn't been touched by the hurricane, not really, even though all our neighbors had damage. What was even stranger was that our beach house was still standing, but the houses on either side of it were matchsticks.

"I knew Andrew had done something. I had no idea how, but I knew he had. It took me a long time to work up the courage to ask him, but I did eventually. And when I did . . ."

Sandra trailed off, looking haunted. Kate touched her shoulder gently, and Cordelia refilled her coffee. After a few minutes, Sandra continued her tale.

"He told me it was magic," she said. "I laughed a little at first, but then he proved it. He made things right in front of me—a candle, a flower, a necklace. He made the wind blow, then brought down rain out of the clear sky. I didn't have a choice but to believe. Then he took my hands and . . . and he told me he was glad I knew, that he could give me anything and everything my heart desired, I only had to ask."

"I'll bet he's a Dalasian Sorcerer!" Rebecca suddenly broke in.

Before anyone could ask what that was, Wesley shook his head. "He couldn't be, Rebecca. Dalasians are celibate, and the presence of Sarah Anne seems to argue against that in this case."

"But his control over the elements . . ."

"Is something most magic users can learn. Please don't interrupt, Rebecca." He turned his gaze back to Sandra. "Please do continue."

She nodded. "For a little while after that, things seemed fine. He could do such beautiful things, and he seemed to only want to please me and take care of Sarah Anne. But then . . ." She swallowed hard. "I don't know what it was that first made me worry. He was getting more and more powerful, and the more powerful he became, the less I knew him. It seemed to me he started to disdain ordinary humans. And there were _things_ in our house."

"What kind of things?" asked Wesley quietly.

"Creatures. I'd hear them or see them, but they never paid attention to me or Sarah Anne. Except one. There was this woman. I-I don't know how to describe her. It was always the same woman, but she had three different appearances. Sometimes, she'd be small and kind of dark—her hair and eyes would be almost black, and her skin was dusky. Other times, she'd be tall and very fair, with almost white hair and bright blue eyes, and she'd be reed-thin. And once in a while, she'd be a curvy redhead. She never walked—always floated at least a few inches off the ground—and Andrew was very proud of having her in the house. He told me that she was my personal servant.

"The worst thing was, she seemed so sad. She had to do anything I or Andrew asked of her, or she'd be in pain. I asked her what her name was once, and she told me she couldn't tell me that, and then she suffered until I told her it was all right, I didn't need to know. Then she told me I was so kind . . ."

A tear rolled down Sandra's face. Gunn passed her a box of Kleenex. It took her a moment to pull herself together.

"All this time, Andrew was changing. He started to get controlling, telling me when I could leave the house, who I could talk to. When I'd try and argue with him, he'd make it so I couldn't speak. If he got really angry, he'd . . . hurt me."

"Hit you?" asked Cordelia.

"No, he never laid a hand on me. He'd just make it so I hurt all over until I apologized for whatever I'd done to upset him." Sandra took a shuddering breath. "I wanted to leave him. I tried. But he always knew, and he could stop me in my tracks. I started to worry about Sarah Anne, how he'd treat her. Mostly, he just ignored her, but once in a while, he'd give her this look, almost like he was hungry, and it scared me so bad, but I couldn't break free of him. Not until I got help."

She took another sip of her coffee. "When Sarah Anne turned five, on her birthday, the woman I told you about before came to me when I was alone. She told me something that just about made me wet myself—that Andrew was planning to kill Sarah Anne."

A murmur went around the room. Wesley leaned forward, concentrating totally on Sandra.

After a moment, she continued. "I begged her to help me, and she said she would. She said I was kind to her, and she would give me three gifts: one of the Fair, one of the Dark, and one of the Russet." She grimaced. "I'm trying to remember these things.

"The Fair gave me a pendant." Sandra pulled a golden chain with a flat, orange-brown, teardrop-shaped stone dangling from it. Wesley hissed when he saw it. "She said it would keep Andrew from being able to control me, but I had to wear it all the time, even at night, even when I bathed. I haven't taken it off in almost a year."

"It's good thinking," said Wesley. "What you're wearing is a Fey stone. They're vanishingly rare, and very powerful. She must have put a charm on it to break the spell your husband placed on you, and to protect you from further mind-control spells. But do go on."

Sandra took another look at the stone around her neck before she continued. "The Dark gave me a cloak, one I keep with my belongings. She said it would hide me from prying eyes, though not forever. Sarah Anne and I have had to use it sparingly, but at first, when we ran, we wore it for days on end—it's big enough to cover the both of us.

"The Russet . . . she kissed me on the mouth, then told me her name. The weird thing is, I can't say it. She said that when the time comes, I'll be able to, but until then, my tongue is bound—those were her words.

"After that, I left with Sarah Anne. We wore the cloak and just walked out of the house. The woman told me she could give me a few days, but no more. I went straight to the bank and withdrew several thousand dollars, and after that, Sarah Anne and I hit the road."

"In Virginia?" Wesley sounded amazed. "You've run all the way across the country, then."

Sandra nodded. "We can't stay in one place for too long. He has these things, these horrible monsters, that do his looking for him. Whenever we start to see them, Sarah Anne and I have to run again. The longest we've stayed anywhere is a month. I found a network of women who help other women escape abusive spouses, and they've helped me stay underground, but . . ." She started crying again. "Sarah Anne deserves better, and I can't live like this anymore. But how can I fight his power? Sooner or later, he will catch us. I'm so scared, and I've been scared for so very long, I've forgotten what it was like to have a normal life. Please . . . can you help us?"

Wesley looked into her eyes. "We shall certainly endeavor to do so." He addressed the rest of the team. "The first thing is to find out exactly what sort of magic user he is."

"Finding out where he is would be helpful, too," put in Gunn.

"I've got some contacts that might help with that," offered Kate.

Cordelia looked at Wesley. "What do you think of putting Sandra and Sarah Anne up here? There's room, and Angel could guard them better."

"We can have it warded more effectively, too," mused Wesley. "It's a good idea."

Angel looked thoughtful. "There are some demons who sense strong magic. I can roust a few out, find out if they're picking up any disturbances. Could give us some warning."

"Another good idea," said Wesley. "Sandra, I will want you to remember everything you can about Andrew's magic—any amulets or objects he used, any incantations, whatever you can remember."

Sandra sagged in her seat. "You really—you're really taking this seriously."

"We really are," agreed Cordelia. "I promise you, this is nowhere near the weirdest case we've had—not even in the last month."

"We will help you, Sandra," promised Wesley. "Whatever it takes, we'll help you and your daughter get your lives back."

Sandra burst into tears.

***

"Angel, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Angel looked at Kate and pulled away from where Sandra was giving Wesley all the details she could remember about Andrew Burnham's magic. "Sure. What is it?"

The two walked out of the office before Kate turned to face him. "The white-haired guy—Spike. Who is he?"

Angel sighed. "You remember Drusilla?" Kate nodded. "Spike was turned by her. They spent almost 120 years together."

"Then he is a vampire." Kate looked intently into Angel's eyes. "Is he like you? Does he have a soul?"

"No. He's not like me."

"Then how can he be trusted?" Kate asked. "I don't mind telling you he gave me the creeps earlier. Frankly, I'm not sure I want Sandra and Sarah Anne staying anywhere near him. Is he staying here?"

"Yes." Angel rubbed his chin. "Spike's . . . complicated. If it reassures you any, he is, for now, incapable of physically harming a living being."

"What, some kind of curse or something?"

"No." Angel gave a laugh. "A microchip implanted in his brain, if you can believe that. The government got ahold of him." Kate just stared at him. "Honestly, Kate, if I thought he'd be a problem, I'd chain him in the basement until they left. As it is, I doubt he'll even pay much attention to them. He's got too much of his mind focused on Dawn right now."

"On Dawn?"

"He made a promise to protect her, and it's one he will keep. Like I said, Spike's complicated."

Kate didn't look happy, but she acquiesced. "I guess if you're okay with it, I am, too." She looked down, a little uncomfortable. "Gunn told me about your loss. I'm very sorry, Angel." Angel nodded, fresh pain in his eyes. "She was your . . . friend?"

A moment. Then: "She was my dream."

Kate's lips tightened minutely, and she nodded. "I'm sorry."

After Sandra gave as much detail to Wesley as she could, Kate took her and Sarah Anne back to the women's shelter to retrieve their meager belongings. The Angel Investigations crew broke out the books.

Fred was just coming back in when suddenly, Spike heaved himself over the railing of the second-floor balcony and landed in the lobby directly in front of her. The young woman froze briefly, looking him up and down.

"Are you a Bad Thing?" she asked.

"Bad as they come, sweet pea."

"I thought so." With that, she continued on her beeline to the kitchen. Spike looked after her, a little disappointed. Angel smirked.

"Didn't spook as easily as you thought she would, did she, Spike?"

Spike gestured vaguely in the direction Fred had gone. "Speaking as someone who spent 120 years with Dru—that girl's a little strange."

"She is," agreed Angel. "By the way, Spike, Sandra and Sarah Anne, who Kate brought in earlier, are going to be staying with us here. If you cause them any trouble, I'll chain you in the basement."

"Good, clean family fun." Spike grinned.

"Yeah, makes me all nostalgic, too," sighed Angel. He then became aware of the open-mouthed looks Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn were giving him. "That was a joke."

"Just keep in mind there are things we don't want to be hearin' about," said Gunn.

"Motion seconded," added Cordelia.

"And passed," finished Wesley.

"Wimps," said Spike.

Angel dope-slapped him upside the head. Spike looked offended, but before he could protest, Dawn walked into the lobby.

"Hey, Niblet." Spike ruffled her hair, and she batted his hand away with a small smile.

"Dawn. Come sit down," said Angel, sitting on the couch. Dawn obligingly sat down beside him. "How's Sarah Anne?"

Dawn shrugged and gathered her thoughts. "She didn't talk all that much, but she did say something about her and her mom having to pack up and run in the middle of the night. I asked her if she had any friends, and she said she didn't. That and she's turning six on Saturday. What happened to her?"

Angel explained Sandra and Sarah Anne's situation. "They're going to be staying with us until we figure out how to stop Andrew Burnham," he told her, wrapping it up.

Dawn looked at him askance. "I'm not going to get stuck on permanent baby-sitting duty, am I?"

"No, don't worry about that," Angel chuckled. "I have a feeling Sandra won't be letting Sarah Anne out of her sight for more than a minute."

The group continued with their research. Even Dawn took a book to flip through. Spike stood around for a few minutes, then got stir-crazy and left.

Rebecca sighed and wiggled. "Can't we just find this man and stop him?" she asked.

"We need to find out what he's capable of first," pointed out Wesley. "Going unprepared into a battle with a powerful magic user . . ."

"Is a good way of getting very dead," finished Gunn.

"Precisely." Wesley looked at Rebecca. "Ninety-nine percent of this job is research, Rebecca. It's only when there's no other choice that we go into physical battle."

"What your uncle is trying to say is that our lives are weeks of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror," Cordelia summed up.

"I would have to agree with that," concurred Wesley.

Rebecca looked discontented, but went back to her book.

"Wesley." The ex-Watcher looked up at Angel. "That creature Sandra described, the woman—did she sound like a Faery to you?"

"That's exactly what I thought," said Wesley. "The three aspects, the stone, the fact that Sandra can't say her name—it matches up with everything I've heard." He looked worried. "That's the most puzzling thing. As far as I know, it's impossible for a witch or warlock to control the Fey. Such a thing would take incredibly strong magicks."

"What exactly are we talking about?" asked Gunn.

Wesley explained. "The Faery, or the Fey, as they're sometimes known, are spirits that can take a physical form in our world. They supposedly exist between dimensions. Normally, they have very little interaction with the mortal world, so the Watcher information on them is sketchy at best. What is known is that they almost always have three aspects and to have their names is to have power over them. In Sandra's case, the Faery that was in her house has given out her name, but she's also bound Sandra so she can't use it until a certain point. Unfortunately, given how unpredictable the Fey are, I've no idea what that might mean."

Spike walked back in, munching on a bag of microwave popcorn. "Shouldn't all you be concentrating less on this wind and more on getting this mausoleum warded?"

"We have been looking into that, Spike," Wesley informed him impatiently. "Unfortunately, most general warding spells would kick you and Angel right out the door."

"Which might not be so bad, in your case," Cordelia said.

Spike flashed his canines at her and offered the bag of popcorn to Dawn, who took a handful. "I don't know, Miss Cordelia. You might find you like having me around."

"In your dreams, Bleach Boy," the Seer shot back.

"All my naughtiest ones, sweeting."

"Wanna get staked?" Gunn asked the blond vampire.

"Try it, Baldy." Spike tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it neatly on his tongue.

"Much as I hate to interrupt the repartee," said Wesley loudly, "I must insist that we get back to researching. Gunn, keep looking for the description of those creatures Sandra said Andrew uses to hunt her. Cordelia, keep looking for warding spells. Something not too complicated, please; I'm no warlock."

Dawn took another handful of popcorn, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you call Willow and Tara?" she asked. "I mean, classes are out, so all Willow's probably doing is annoying Anya at the Magic Box. They could give you advice, or maybe even come down here and do a spell themselves. You could ask them about Andrew, too."

All eyes turned to Dawn. After a moment, Spike spoke up.

"You know, Little Bit, it's very rude to suggest simple solutions to people who are in love with their dilemmas."

Angel smiled and gave Dawn a squeeze. "Spike's right, Dawn. You've got to watch it with that." He looked over at Wesley. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea. Cordelia, would you . . ?"

"I'm on it." The Seer stood and walked into the office to place the call. A few minutes later, she returned. "I'd say that's settled. Willow practically had an orgasm when I asked if they wanted to help ward the hotel."

"Cordelia!" Wesley scolded, taking a nervous glance at Dawn.

The girl rolled her eyes. "It's not like I've never heard that word before, Wesley. You should hear the things Anya says. Once, she made Giles turn purple."

"Anyway," Cordelia went on, "she and Tara are going to come by tomorrow afternoon."

Not too long after that, Kate returned with Sandra and Sarah Anne. The ex-cop greeted them by asking, "Find anything?"

Wesley looked up at her. "Nothing too dramatic, I'm afraid. However, tomorrow, some friends are stopping by who will help us ward the hotel. They'll most likely be able give us some direction as to what Andrew is, too."

"I still think he's a sorcerer," insisted Rebecca.

"We don't know that," said Wesley. "All we know is that he certainly isn't your usual warlock. Even if he is a sorcerer, we'd still have to determine what kind."

"Do I want to know?" asked Kate.

"There are a lot of different kinds of magic users," Angel explained. "There are different titles for all of them—witch, wizard, sorcerer, mage, et cetera. Depending on what powers they use or what gods they worship, they can also differ within any given category. Once we can narrow Andrew down to one category, we'll be a lot closer to determining what kinds of powers he has and how to defend against him—and we'll also know a lot more about his weaknesses."

Kate didn't look like that had cleared up too much for her. Angel took her and the mother and daughter upstairs to find a room for them.

"Thank you for doing this for us, Angel," said Sandra. "It's such a relief, finally finding someone who's willing to help us."

Angel nodded. "We'll do our best." He glanced back at Kate, then pulled Sandra a little away from Sarah Anne. "There is something you have to know about myself and one other person at the Hyperion. Spike—the man with the white hair—and I are both vampires."

Sandra's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Don't worry—we don't feed off humans, so neither of us will hurt you or Sarah Anne—but if it comes down to a fight, I don't want you to be alarmed at what may happen. Do you understand?"

"I-I guess so." Sandra shook herself. "I've just never run across a vampire before."

Angel gave her a quick grin. "I wouldn't suggest trusting vampires in general, but you can trust me. As for Spike—if he gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll take care of it. Okay?"

"Okay."

Angel went back downstairs, where the research party continued. He lost track of time until Cordelia started making noises about dinner.

"What time is it?" the vampire asked.

Wesley checked his watch. "Almost six."

Angel swore, getting up and grabbing his coat. "I've got to go. I managed to get a face-to-face meeting to tell Faith about Buffy, and if I'm late . . ."

Rebecca looked up from her book. "Faith? You're meeting with her?" There was distaste in her voice. But Angel was gone. Rebecca turned to Wesley. "Why is he meeting with _her_?"

Wesley's lips tightened, the way they always did when the rogue Slayer was mentioned, but his voice betrayed nothing. "Angel has kept in touch with Faith, yes. He feels it's important she knows she has at least one friend in the world, and I have to agree with him."

"But why? She's evil."

"So was Angel, once. Keep looking through that book." With that, the conversation was over.

Two hours later, Angel returned, looking rough.

"How did it go?" asked Wesley.

The vampire shook his head. "She knew the second she saw me. Slayer's instinct, I suppose. Didn't mean she took it too well, though."

"I'd have imagined she'd be happy Buffy Summers is dead," said Rebecca.

Dawn promptly left the room.

Angel flicked Rebecca an irritated glance. "She isn't. The thing she wanted to do most was make up with Buffy, and now she'll never be able to." He turned to Cordelia. "Cordy, would you check on Dawn?"

"Sure." Cordelia glared at Rebecca. "Watch what you say about Buffy. Dawn's not into reacting well, in case you haven't noticed."

"Have you spent much time with her?" asked Wesley. "How is she doing?"

Cordelia shrugged a little. "I haven't been able to spend much time with her, but . . . I think she's dealing. She's strong."

Angel nodded. "She is. It'll just take time, is all."

"She's certainly doing better than she was in Sunnydale," agreed Wesley.

"What, are you people barmy?" Spike's voice startled everyone in the room. The blond vampire entered the lobby. "Any idiot can see that she's barely hanging on. She's putting up a false front because she thinks that's what you all want to see."

"You don't know that," said Cordelia.

"Yes I do, sweetheart. And so would you, if you'd open your eyes." He gave the group a disgusted look and walked out.

A little shaken at Spike's words, Cordelia made her way to the room she and Dawn were sharing. The teen was sitting on the bed reading a book.

"Dawn?" There was no response. "I just came up to check on you. You doing okay?"

"Rebecca's a moron," answered Dawn.

"I'll give that a hearty 'uh-huh.' But how are you?"

"Fine."

This wasn't going to be easy. "Funny, you don't look or sound fine. Listen, Dawn . . ."

"I want to be alone," interrupted the teen, not looking up from her book.

Cordelia stopped, not quite sure of how to proceed. "Okay, if you want. But Dawn, if you need to talk or anything, I'm here."

Dawn didn't respond. Less than satisfied and uncomfortably certain Spike knew what he was talking about, Cordelia left.


	3. Wednesday, Everyone Has Issues

Chapter 3

Note: Thanks and blame go to Godiva for the Bloody Awful Limerick.

Chapter 3: Wednesday, Everyone Has Issues

__

Dear Buffy,

I finally got Cordy to go away. I don't want to talk to her or anyone. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of pretending I'm okay. I'm sick of feeling this way all the time. Why can't they just leave me alone?

Why did you have to die? I didn't ask you to take a dive for me. I would have done it, you know. Maybe I'd have liked being dead better than being like this. It hurts all the time, and it's not going to get better. Everyone says it will, but they don't know. They don't know anything.

You died. You killed yourself. You left me alone, feeling like this. It hurts, Buffy. You died, and you don't hurt anymore, but I do. I have nightmares, and I'm scared, and you can't protect me anymore. Why didn't you let me die? I'm not even real! I can't live like this! I can't be brave! Why did you ask me to? I hate you! I hate, hate, HATE YOU!!!!

A tear splashed on the page.

__

I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I love you, Buffy. I miss you so much I think I'll die.

***

"We've got big problems," Cordelia informed Wesley when he came in at noon.

"Something evil?" asked Rebecca hopefully.

"No, something young and angry." Cordelia turned back to Wesley. "Dawn didn't get up this morning. She hasn't eaten breakfast, even. And when I tried to get her up, she used some words I think she learned from Spike."

Gunn joined the group. "I tried to talk to her, too. No dice."

"Furthermore, Angel's up in the penthouse having a power-brood." Cordelia sighed. "One teenager and one vampire, both in terrible moods. This may be too much for us to handle."

Wesley squared his shoulders. "I'll attempt to talk to Dawn. Nothing ventured, nothing gained." He bravely walked up the stairs.

"May God have mercy on your soul," murmured Cordelia.

"Why do you say that?" asked Rebecca. "I'm sure Uncle Wesley can handle this. After all, how much trouble can that little girl be? She'll be down here in no time."

Gunn and Cordelia looked at her. "Care to put money on that?" asked Cordelia. "Twenty bucks says he's back down here in under five minutes, sans Dawn."

"I'll take that bet." Rebecca looked and sounded remarkably smug. "You'll see that . . ."

She trailed off as Wesley came back down the stairs, alone, ears red. "I think you're right, Cordelia," he said. "She must have learned those words from Spike. I must say, she used them with great flair."

Cordelia held out one hand to Rebecca, who forlornly placed a twenty-dollar bill in it. "So what are we going to do about the Angel situation?" She tucked the twenty into her bra.

"I don't know," Wesley admitted. "I'm unwilling to leave him up there, brooding the day away, especially as we've got guests here and Willow and Tara are coming later on. Perhaps we should try speaking to him."

"I agree," said Gunn. "But we can't just go barging in, invading his privacy, staging an intervention or something. You know how he'll react to that."

***

He'd dreamed of her last night.

That in itself wasn't an unusual thing. Angel dreamed of Buffy a lot, and since her death, he'd dreamed of her literally every time he slept—which hadn't been much. This last dream, though, was the first nightmare he'd had about her in a long, long time.

In his dream, she'd been trapped, struggling to reach Dawn, and he had been there. Buffy had kept crying for Angel to protect Dawn, to help her. But he'd been unable to. Every time he'd tried to move toward Dawn or Buffy, he'd been held in place, rooted to the spot.

Perhaps it had been meeting with Faith that had sent his dreams spinning in that direction. Seeing the rogue Slayer's tears, her self-recrimination, had reawakened the irrational, unfocused guilt Angel himself had been feeling about not being there for Buffy. He'd been too far away to help her. If only he'd been there. If only he'd known how truly serious the situation was. If only the Powers had sent him to Sunnydale instead of Pylea. If only . . .

The door to the penthouse was tossed open without warning, and Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn paraded in and formed a semicircle around the vampire. He looked at them, nonplused. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Barging in," said Gunn.

"Invading your privacy," said Cordelia.

"Staging an intervention," said Wesley.

Angel nodded. "I can see that."

"We were worried," said Gunn.

"You, up here, brooding your life away . . ." started Cordelia.

"Doesn't generally bode well," finished Wesley.

Angel gave an inward roll of his eyes. "I'm not going to go all . . . Darla on you guys. It's just that I just lost someone," He sighed, trying to find the right words. "Someone with a very unique place in my soul. You can't expect me to just get over that."

Gunn stepped forward a little. "I understand. When Alonna died . . . that was brutal, man. You don't get over it. I know what it feels like."

"I know you do, Gunn." Angel looked at the young man in perfect understanding.

"Look, Angel," said Cordelia, "we know you're all grieving, and we're okay with it. We really are."

"The only problem is, we've a job to do right now," said Wesley. "We have Sandra and Sarah Anne to look after. Willow and Tara will be coming this afternoon. Furthermore, Dawn's in even worse shape than you at the moment, at least outwardly, and . . ."

Angel interrupted. "Dawn? What's wrong?"

"One serious 'tude," opined Gunn.

"She's in one nasty little teenage mood this morning," explained Cordelia. "She refused to get out of bed and won't eat. Except all the heads she's biting off anytime anyone comes near her."

Angel sighed and moved toward the door. "All right."

"What are you going to do?" asked Wesley.

"It sounds to me like Dawn's found as good a place as any have a bad mood," Angel told him with just a hint of irritation in his voice. "I think I'll join her."

The vampire left, letting the door slam behind him. There was nothing that annoyed him so much as people who were narrow-minded about brooding.

Wesley, Gunn, and Cordelia watched him leave.

"Well," said Wesley.

"Uh-huh," said Cordelia.

Gunn nodded. "Yep."

Wesley faced his friends with a smile. "That went splendidly."

"Gotta hand it to you, English. Great idea," said Gunn.

Cordelia shrugged. "Hey, when you're right, you're right."

Wesley, looking smug, glanced at his watch. "I believe you two owe me lunch. We should get it in before Willow and Tara get here, one would think."

"Yeah, let's pick up Fred on the way," said Gunn.

The three left the penthouse, bickering about where to eat.

***

Dawn was laying on her right side, trying to ignore the muscle spasms in her back that were telling her she'd been lying down for far too long, when the door to her room opened. Angel entered a moment later, carrying a tray laden with scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice.

"Go away," she ordered preemptively.

He didn't say anything, but set the tray down on the nightstand nearest her. The smell of the food made Dawn's stomach growl. Then Angel went around to the other side of the bed and flopped down beside her. She turned over, looking at him curiously.

"What are you doing?"

He looked about as happy as she felt. "Wesley, Cordy, and Gunn chased me out of my favorite brooding spot. Seems to me you've got the hang of chasing them off, so I thought I'd stay in here until I'm needed downstairs."

"I want to be alone," Dawn stated. Why wasn't anyone getting this?

"Too bad." Angel wasn't looking directly at her, but his face was set. "Tell you what: you eat breakfast, and I won't try to talk to you. We'll have a nice, mutual mope."

She glared at him, but it was obvious there would be no moving him for now. "Fine." She reached over, took the breakfast tray, and ate as much as she could stomach.

Then they sat together on the bed in perfect silence for a long time.

***

Willow and Tara turned up just after two o'clock. They each carried small bags and greeted the people in the lobby cheerfully.

"Willow, Tara, this is Sandra Burnham," Wesley said, indicating the auburn-haired woman. "Sandra, Willow and Tara can protect the hotel magically, and they might be able to help us narrow down what type of magic-user your husband is, too."

"Nice to meet you," said Sandra, looking nervous. "What exactly will you do?"

Willow grinned, completely in her element. "A few general warding spells to keep the demons away, a magical alarm to alert you if any strong magic-users enter the hotel, and—this is the fun one—a kind of invisibility shield that'll repel scrying spells. That oughta give the team some time to figure out how to deal with this guy."

"Where are the entrances?" asked Tara.

Angel, who had come downstairs just as their car pulled up, indicated a passage. "Aside from the front door, we've got two service entrances in the back: down that hall and to the left on this side, and one in the kitchen. There's also an emergency exit on the west side of the building and a sewer entrance in the basement."

Rebecca sidled over to Cordelia, who was keeping Sarah Anne occupied, as Willow and Tara began taking spell paraphernalia out of their bags. "You say these two are witches?"

"Yep." Cordelia was showing Sarah Anne how to braid a string bracelet.

"Ah." Rebecca took another glance at them. "Are they sisters?"

Cordelia tied off the bracelet. "Nope. Lesbian lovers."

Rebecca laughed. "Oh, Cordelia, you are so droll."

"Tara, baby, you want to get the service entrances while I do the front door and the sewer entrance?" Willow asked.

"Sounds good to me, honey," answered Tara. The witches exchanged a quick kiss, and Tara headed to the back while Willow went back to the front door.

Rebecca blinked. "Oh."

Angel followed Tara, carrying the spell ingredients she couldn't due to her broken hand. For nearly an hour, the witches could be seen moving throughout the Hyperion, sprinkling herbs or spell-sand, murmuring in Latin, and carrying bundles of smoking herbs that filled the lobby with softly pungent odors. Rebecca took it upon herself to examine the paraphernalia they'd left on the table. Wesley kept her from interrupting their work with questions, but it was evident she thought there was a better way to ward the hotel.

Just as the spells were finished, Spike walked into the lobby. "Thought I smelled some mojo going down. Hello, Red."

Willow's eyebrows jumped. "Spike's here?"

"We've all been trying to convince ourselves it's a bad dream," said Cordelia.

Spike winked at her in a way that made her distinctly nervous, then went off in the direction of the kitchen. Cordelia's eyes followed him warily.

Willow looked around. "Hey, where's Dawn? Normally, a little 'mojo going down' brings her out of the woodwork."

Cordelia sighed. "Dawn is in a deep, deep blue funk and wishes to be left alone. Angel, any signs of the storm clearing up?"

Angel shook his head. His bad mood, at least, seemed to have abated for the moment. "I believe she's reached the 'anger' stage of grief. My guess is that she'll hold onto it for at least a while."

"It takes time," said Tara. "It always takes time." She looked over at Willow as she said this, and for just a moment, the pain was fully revealed in the red-haired witch's eyes.

Willow shook it off by getting back to business. "Sandra, want to tell us about your husband?" She and Tara took the couch to listen to Sandra's story.

When it was over, the two witches looked at each other. "It's not Wicca," declared Tara.

"Some of what he's done sounds like dark magic, like serious Black Arts stuff," said Willow. "I mean, the human bones you found in his study? Those can be used for necromancy, and that's bad news. And that amulet you described, the one with the dark red stone—that can do serious damage."

"It's all forbidden." Tara shook her head. "Magic like that tends to turn on its user sooner or later, but it also makes him very dangerous—and powerful. It doesn't sound to me like he's a warlock, though."

Willow shook her head in agreement. "No, not to me, either. He's using black magic, but . . . something's not right. You say that he was able to make things just appear?"

Sandra nodded. "Several times, that I know of."

"Witches and warlocks can't do that," said Tara. "It's called kenning, and it's impossible for us."

"Sure would come in handy sometimes." Willow gave Sandra a brief grin. "When he drew down the elements—I mean, brought rain and wind—did he use any kind of incantation? Did he say any words that you remember?"

Sandra thought back, then shook her head. "No. He just did it."

Willow and Tara looked at each other again. Tara's eyes grew wide. "Does it sound like—like he could be a mage?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking," said Willow. "They can ken, and they don't use incantations. If he's a mage, but he's still using black arts . . ."

"That's very dangerous," finished Tara. "And it sounds like he's enslaved demons, too."

"And a Faery," put in Wesley.

"That's extremely dangerous," said Tara, modifying her earlier assessment.

Wesley sat down beside Sandra. "What can you tell us about magi?" he asked the witches.

Both looked a little troubled. Willow spoke for them. "Honestly, not much. Magi are pretty insular, and they're kinda snobby about witchcraft, too."

Tara took in a sudden breath. "Wait. Oz's new girlfriend—I talked to him after the funeral, and I remember he said his girlfriend is a mage."

"Thia," said Angel. "I'd forgotten. I'll email him and ask him to ask her if she'd consult with us."

"Good idea." Wesley looked hopeful. "Willow's right; magi are notoriously secretive. Hopefully, Oz will be able to persuade Thia we're trustworthy."

"So, did we help?" asked Willow.

"A great deal," said Wesley. "Thank you both."

"Can we do anything else?" asked Tara, standing up.

Angel smiled at her. "I don't think so. We seem to have things under control here."

"ANGEL!!!!!"

Cordelia's screech—there was no other word for it—came from the direction of the kitchen. Angel was in there in a flash, with the others close on his heels.

Cordelia was standing glaring at the refrigerator like it had offended her in some particularly heinous way. That glare quickly shifted to Angel when he came in. "Take a look at _that_," she ordered, pointing at the fridge.

When Angel had first moved into the Hyperion, his friends had all given him housewarming presents. Cordelia's had been a set of Magnetic Poetry which he'd fussed with from time to time, but had mostly ignored. At the moment, however, aided by a small slip of paper with Wesley's name on it, the magnets read:

> "Wesley is only a goof   
and angel is just a big poof   
there's no time to waste  
I'm right here, miss chase  
no sense staying shy and aloof." 

"What does that look like to you?" the Seer demanded.

"A really bad limerick," replied Angel.

"I'll tell you what it looks like to me. It looks to me like your _grandson_ needs to be hurt," Cordelia ground out.

Gunn had to leave the kitchen quickly before cracking up.

Angel sighed. "Cordy, I agree it's in terrible taste, but I think I've got to pick my battles with Spike this week. He could be doing a lot worse than using the Magnetic Poetry to write obnoxious limericks."

Cordelia wasn't about to be mollified. "Wait until he dedicates one of these things to you."

"Well, I do get a mention in this one."

Wesley decided to intercede. "Cordelia, since Dawn seems to be incommunicado, why don't you take Fred to get some clothes, like you've been talking about doing."

The mention of shopping had the desired effect upon Cordelia. She brightened right up. "Great idea. Anyone seen her lately?"

Gunn ducked back in, having gotten himself back under control. "She likes the ballroom. Try there."

"Take the money out of petty cash," said Wesley. "What will you need? Fifty dollars? One hundred?" Cordelia gave him the look she normally reserved for things that dripped slime. Wesley sighed in resignation. "Whatever you need."

Cordelia practically bounced out of the kitchen. Willow gave Wesley a sympathetic look.

"You sure you've got everything under control?"

***

Spike grinned viciously as he heard Cordelia's outraged shriek. Let them chew that one over, he thought. With any luck, his little poem would make for some threats by one or more of the menfolk, and they'd all have some fun.

His smile faded as he saw a slight figure duck out of the back service stairwell and start making toward one of the recently-warded service entrances. The vampire was there in a heartbeat.

"Where do you think you're going, Little Bit?" he asked Dawn.

She looked startled at the vampire's appearance. "Spike. I was just . . . coming down for lunch."

Spike shook his head. "You'll have to get better at lying than that, girl. Kitchen's on the other side of the building. 'Sides, if you're staying in, why are you wearing a jacket?"

Dawn glanced down at the jeans jacket she was wearing. "All right. I'm sick of being inside. I thought I'd take a walk."

"All by your lonesome?"

"I don't want to talk to anyone. I wish they'd just leave me alone."

Spike looked at the girl's hurt, set face. "Can't say I blame you for that, Niblet. Believe me, I'd like to get away from these wankers, too. In this case, though, much as it pains me to admit it, they're right. You shouldn't be going out alone, not even in the daytime."

Dawn's expression darkened. "You can't stop me." She turned and started walking toward the door again. Spike grabbed her arm—not hard enough to hurt, but in an unbreakable grip. "Let me go!"

"Not even." Spike looked just as determined as she did. "This is L-bloody-A, girl. There are nasty, evil creatures out there—not to mention all the demons and vampires. If I let you walk through that door, Angel will flay my skin off inch by inch. I'd sooner the chip kicked in. If I've got to hurt you to stop you, so be it."

"I thought you were my friend!"

Spike cursed. "Of course I am, Little Bit. I also promised your sis I'd look after you, and part of that is keeping you from doing stupid things like wanderin' a big city alone."

Dawn glared at him, face red. "I am leaving, Spike. You're not going to stop me."

It was time, Spike decided, to take off the kid gloves. He hated doing it, but . . . "You're determined to get yourself hurt then, are you? Don't you think there's already been enough death in your family this year?"

The girl gasped like Spike had slapped her. The vampire got one good look at blue eyes filled with tears before she tore her arm away from him and ran away, back up the stairs.

Spike cursed again. He didn't like doing that to Dawn, but it had been the only way. She'd come around eventually, he hoped—though she might never completely forgive him. The thought was troubling; he genuinely liked Dawn, and he was serious about the promise he'd given Buffy. He didn't intend to fail her again.

He'd only taken a few steps back toward the lobby when he was accosted by Rebecca Martin-Pryce.

"Just who I was looking for," chirped the British girl.

"Isn't it my bloody lucky day?" Spike muttered. He continued walking, and Rebecca was forced to do an about-face to keep up with him.

"I was wondering—I mean, you've killed two Slayers, right?"

__

"You're gonna show me how."

Spike stopped, and Rebecca nearly walked into him. "What about it?"

"Well, I was wondering . . ." Rebecca spread her hands. "I was wondering how you did it. I mean, you must be dying to tell the story!"

__

Ducking, weaving, fighting and dancing with Buffy in the alley . . .

"Not a story for the kiddies." Spike abruptly started walking again, this time down toward the first-floor suites.

Rebecca hurried along. "I'm not a kid. I was a Slayer-in-Waiting for seven years. I've heard all the stories except yours, and I'd really like to know. What mistakes did they make? How did you get the better of them?"

__

"Every Slayer has a death wish. Even you . . . . Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second—the second—that happens, you know I'll be there. I'll slip in, have myself a real good day."

Spike turned on Rebecca so swiftly that she lost her balance and stumbled into the wall. Spike planted one hand on either side of her and stared her down with his cobalt blue eyes.

"Listen, Slayer-Reject. That's a tale you'll never hear because you couldn't handle it. Buffy Summers could handle it, but you, girlie, are no Buffy Summers. You couldn't be if you tried. If you had been Chosen, for whatever God-only-knows reason, I'd have bagged me a third Slayer—if you'd even been worth my time." He looked her up and down contemptuously. "And that's a big if right there."

As swiftly as he'd captured her, he was gone. Rebecca stood up against the wall for a few more seconds, trembling violently. Then she raced for the lobby bathroom. Scarcely had she closed the door before she was vomiting into the sink.

When the final spasm had passed, she looked into the mirror. "Stupid," she told her pale, tear-streaked reflection. "Stupid. You always say the wrong thing." She turned on the faucet, washing out the sink and scooping up some water to rinse her mouth. "Can't you do anything right?"

***

Sandra was shaken out of her mental haze by a knock on her room door. She took a quick peek at Sarah Anne, napping in the bed, then opened the door to find Wesley there.

"Hi, Wesley." She exited the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind her. "Sarah Anne's asleep."

"I hope I didn't disturb her," said the Englishman.

Sandra shook her head. "No. She's fine. What's up?"

"I wanted to let you know that Angel's friend Oz got back to him. He said that Thia's at a friend's bridal shower tonight, but she'll call us tomorrow early on. We'll need you there in case she has questions only you can answer."

"All right." Sandra sighed, looking away.

"Is something wrong?" Wesley asked gently.

"Everything," Sandra said. "Just a few years ago, it was my bridal shower. I wanted to be with Andrew forever. I loved him. And now . . ." She bit her lip, shaking her head. "Now I'm so scared of him I—I've imagined time and time again what it would be like to hear that he's dead. That he got in an accident or one of his creatures turned on him, and Sarah Anne and I won't have to worry about him anymore. I've even—I've even imagined killing him myself." She looked down, ashamed. "What kind of a person does that make me?"

"I'd say very human." Wesley's blue-gray gaze was compassionate. "He's caused you a great deal of pain, Sandra. He's caused you to fear for your daughter's life. I don't know of anyone who could go through all you have and not fantasize about it all being over—no matter what it takes."

Sandra couldn't meet his eyes. "If he does come here, what will . . . what will you do? Will he have to die?"

There was a long pause before Wesley answered. "We will stop him. I won't lie to you, Sandra—he's obviously very powerful, and equally powerful means must be brought to bear to counteract his magicks. In the end, he may have to die. We'll try to avoid that extremity, but it may be unavoidable." He paused. "Can you live with that?"

Sandra took a few breaths before saying anything. "I'll have to. If it happens, I'll deal with it. Sarah Anne will still need me."

Wesley nodded. "Yes. She will." He turned and started back down the corridor, then stopped and faced her again. "Sandra—know that there isn't one person in this hotel who hasn't found someone they've wished dead. Not even Dawn." He paused, eyes distant and bleak. "Certainly not I."

Sandra watched him go, then went back inside her room. She laid down beside her daughter on the bed, silent tears streaming down her face.

***

__

"Go! Now!" commanded Willow in Spike's mind.

Breaking out of the shelter he, Giles, and Anya had made for themselves, Spike dashed for the tower. Tara and Willow's combined magical force cleared the way for him. The vampire scaled the tower with ease, making his way to the top in a matter of minutes.

As he reached the top, he saw Dawn, tied to the end of the platform, and the smallish demon he recognized as Doc facing her. There was pure horror in Dawn's eyes.

"Spike!" she cried, her voice begging his help.

He and Doc exchanged some ritual posturing, and the fight was on. The demon managed to sink his knife into Spike, but the vampire wrenched himself free, putting his own body between Doc and Dawn. Spike could smell the girl and realized she'd wet herself in terror.

"I don't smell a soul anywhere on you," snarled Doc. "Why do you even care?"

"Made a promise to a lady," replied Spike. To Buffy. His lady, for good or for ill.

The demon's tongue shot out. Spike dodged it, only to find himself swept off his feet. Doc grabbed him, pinning his hands.

"Then I'll give the lady your regrets."

Spike wrenched a hand free, flipping over and grabbing the demon. "And I'll give Glory yours!"

The vampire rolled them both over, and off the platform they fell, plummeting toward the ground. Doc screamed, and Spike howled. He heard Dawn's surprised cry as they went over the edge.

They hit the ground with a crunch, Spike landing on top of Doc. The demon's body was crushed underneath the vampire's. Spike himself wasn't in great shape—he felt shattered bones all over his body—but he'd won. He'd kept his promise. Kept Dawn safe. He rolled off Doc's body, trying to close his mind to the pain in his own.

A few minutes later, he saw a sight that made all his pain fade away: Buffy coming down off the tower, carrying Dawn in her arms. Both sisters were crying. The Slayer lowered herself to the ground near Spike, holding Dawn close, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair.

"It's all right, baby," Buffy was murmuring over and over. "It's over. You're okay. We're all okay. It's all over."

Dawn raised her head from Buffy's arms. "Spike—he fell. Is he . . ?"

"Just fine, Niblet," the vampire managed.

Buffy's tear-filled eyes met his over Dawn's head. "Spike. You saved her. I can never . . . I can never thank you enough. Never."

Spike shook his head. "No need, Summers. No need at all . . ."

Spike took another drag on his cigarette, looking at the bare, unfinished walls and plastic-covered windows of the penthouse. It was dark now, evening having fallen while he had been wrapped up in his reverie. He couldn't stop them: the fantasies in which he somehow saved the day, and Buffy didn't have to die.

He shook his head. "Bugger it."

Tossing down the last cigarette butt to join the pile already on the floor, he grabbed his coat and left. No way was he staying inside this place a minute longer.

***

Angel was sitting in the office having a journeyman-level brood when Cordelia walked in. She sat down beside him and proceeded to go into a fairly proficient brood of her own. This confused Angel. Cordelia simply was not the brooding type.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"I just went to try to talk to Dawn again," she said, chin in her hands. "Believe it or not, her mood has managed to get worse. She practically went into vamp face and screamed at me to get out."

"It's not your fault," Angel reassured her. "It's not personal. She's just hurting."

"I know." Cordelia lifted her chin out of her hands, looking forlorn. "I just . . . I don't know what to do. Not for her, not for you. Look at me. I'm brooding. Am I a brooder? I don't think so!"

"You're doing a pretty good job of it, for a novice," Angel offered. "Nice technique, good expression . . ."

"Don't patronize me," she rebuked him with a wry smile. She reached out and took one of his hands. "Please tell me I can do something."

Angel looked into her gentle brown eyes and smiled softly. "You're doing everything I need you to, Cordy. It does hurt. Worse than practically anything I've felt, it hurts. Buffy was my dream. I know . . . I know it shouldn't matter, but I had this fantasy that when I became human, she and I would be together."

"Of course you did," murmured Cordelia.

"It's hard to let go of that," he went on. His eyes were focused on Cordelia's hand, and he played absently with her long fingers as he spoke. "I could always feel her somewhere in my soul. If I concentrated hard enough, I'd sense her. We had a connection. I don't know what it was—maybe because I took her blood, maybe because we loved each other so much—but it was real." He shook his head. "It's not there anymore. There's an empty spot where she was, and it hurts like an open wound."

Cordelia reached over with her other hand and smoothed a few pieces of his short hair. "I wish I could help you, Angel."

"You have, Cordy. You are helping." He gripped her hand. "This helps. I—I can't imagine what I'd do if you weren't here. If all of you weren't here." He drew her head down to his shoulder, and she rested there for a moment. "I'll go up and talk to Dawn in a bit. She just needs time."

***

Dawn entered the penthouse, Buffy's shawl wrapped tightly around her tiny form. She'd been wandering the hotel's upper floors for the last hour, hoping not to be seen, hoping someone would discover her. The penthouse was the only place she hadn't been.

__

. . . feels so bad, so tired, chest hurts, listen to that wind hitting the plastic, it's just like when I was on the tower and scared so cold so alone . . .

She crossed the room in her stocking feet, feeling the rough flooring through her socks. The plastic on one of the big picture windows had torn loose at the bottom corner, and she moved slowly toward it.

__

. . . all alone, nobody knows, nobody understands, Spike, he shouldn't have said that, how could he say that, it hurts inside like nobody knows . . .

The anger that had sustained her since she'd discovered it the previous night had faded, replaced only by pain. As she reached the window, another emotion intruded: fear. She caught sight of the city streets far below, and instantly, she was back on the tower.

__

. . . up so high, so dark, so alone, won't anybody help me, can't anybody see me, Buffy, where are you, so scared, so scared, why is this happening to me, Buffy, help me, I need you, what if she doesn't come, what if she doesn't love me, what if Glory's right, no, that's not true, she'll come she'll come . . .

Dawn swallowed and moved closer. Her heart was pounding inside her chest. She remembered seeing Buffy, being so relieved to see her sister even through the pain, and then the sickening realization that the portals were opening, and the only way they would close was with her own death. She remembered the look on Buffy's face as the Slayer had determined to take her sister's place.

__

. . . should have stopped her, should have gone, Buffy, why did you leave me, it's all wrong now, it's all wrong, and it'll never be better, oh God, it hurts, it hurts so bad, my chest, what's wrong with me, my heart's going to explode, oh God, I should just jump now . . .

The girl stumbled back from the window, horrified at the thought that had just crossed her mind. Her whole body was cold now, cold and on edge, like she'd been touched by a live wire. Her chest was so tight she felt like she couldn't breathe, and her skin prickled with a thousand thousand points of hot and cold.

__

. . . can't breathe, can't feel anything, what's happening to me, I'm dying, oh God, I'm dying, so cold, please somebody help me Angel Angel Angel . . .

She ran out of the penthouse, flinging herself down the stairwell. The one thought on her mind was to find Angel, let him know she was dying. He was strong. He'd know how to help her.

She nearly lost her way more than once, but kept going down until finally, the main stairwell into the lobby was in view. Stumbling, nearly falling, she reached it.

"Angel," she cried, her voice a thin wail. "Angel . . ."

The vampire was there. She felt his hands grasping her shoulders. Alarmed voices reached her from somewhere far away. She thought she identified Cordelia's voice calling her name, and Wesley's voice saying the words "panic attack." Angel was saying something, too.

". . . terrified, I smell it. Dawn, what happened to you?"

She couldn't answer, and suddenly, everything was fading to gray. It almost felt like she was a spectator watching as Angel scooped her body up in his arms and carried her into the lobby. She heard Wesley and Cordelia talking, and Gunn's voice joined them. It was all very far away.

After a time, she came back to her body. She was shaking violently and felt ill. Angel was seated on the couch, cradling her against him, and Wesley was nearby.

"Dawn? Can you hear me?" asked the ex-Watcher.

"Y-yes," she whispered. Her mouth was perfectly dry.

"Dawn, listen to me. Try to breathe slowly and deeply. In . . ." He waited as she inhaled. "And out." She exhaled.

They repeated the process several times. The feeling was coming back into Dawn's fingers and toes, and the tightness and pain in her chest eased.

Cordelia was suddenly there, placing an arm around Dawn's shoulders and holding a chilled bottle to her lips. "It's just some juice, honey. Try to drink, okay?"

Cold orange juice flooded Dawn's mouth, and she gulped at it greedily. She drained half the bottle before pushing it away and pressing her face into Angel's chest. His arms wrapped around her, enfolding her in strength and safety.

That feeling of safety was what finally broke through the barriers Dawn had put in place. No matter what had been happening, she'd always felt safe when Buffy held her. Since Buffy's death, it didn't matter that Glory was gone; Dawn hadn't felt safe, not even for one moment.

Angel was big. He was strong. As he held her, Dawn began to finally feel safe again. A soft keening moan, almost a sigh, escaped her throat.

"Dawn, what's happening to you?" Angel's voice was soft, and his cold breath ruffled her hair.

"I'm going crazy," she confessed in a whisper.

"Dawn, you're not . . ." Cordelia began, but Wesley interrupted her.

"Why do you think you're going crazy, Dawn?"

The girl struggled for words. "I can't . . . these things in my head, the memories . . . I can't make them stop. I keep seeing everything in my head and feeling it, and then I-I can't breathe, I can't sleep, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. All these things—all these feelings. I can't sort it out. I must be crazy."

"What I'm going to ask you to do is difficult," Wesley said slowly, "but Dawn—will you tell us about what happened to you? Start anywhere, and tell us."

"I c-can't."

"Yes, you can." Angel's voice was calm and firm. "You can get through this, Dawn."

She realized one of her hands was holding onto his shirt, fist balled up around the fabric. Thoughts flitted through her mind, but one stuck: maybe if she talked about these memories, they'd finally be out of her head.

So she began to talk. As the first words describing the massacre of the Knights of Byzantium came out, the story seemed to take her. She knew it so well she didn't have to even think, and everything—the slaughter, Glory's ranting and threats, Ben's betrayal, being tied at the top of the tower, Spike's desperate and ultimately unsuccessful defense of her, Doc cutting into her, and Buffy's final sacrifice—simply flowed out. Not in strictly chronological order, but complete in its detail.

Then she was crying. She buried her face in Angel's chest, and as he held her close, she sobbed out her grief and pain.

It was a long, long time later that the tears finally slowed. She was exhausted mentally and physically, but something felt better inside. The hard knot of pain had softened within her. She raised her head from Angel's arms and looked into his face.

Two tear streaks marked it. Hesitantly, she forced her fingers to let go of his shirt and reached up to touch his tears. He, in turn, gently wiped the moisture from her face with his own fingers, then kissed her forehead. She moved in his embrace and wrapped her arms around him, offering what comfort she could.

"Oh, Dawn," he sighed, voice infinitely sad.

A soft sniffle alerted Dawn to the fact that it wasn't just herself and Angel crying. She looked over at Cordelia, who was wiping her own face with a Kleenex. The Seer pulled out a few more tissues and offered them to Dawn, who accepted them.

Angel brushed a few strands of her hair back from her face. "Dawn, I'm so proud of you. You did great with that."

"With what? F-falling apart?" she asked.

"Yeah." The vampire smiled sadly. "Sometimes you need to. It's not easy to face inner demons. In fact, it's a whole lot harder than fighting physical monsters."

"It's always the internal battles that hurt the most, that leave the worst scars," added Wesley. "Angel's right, Dawn; what you just did took more courage than a lot of adults have."

Listlessly, Dawn dropped her head back into the crook of Angel's arm. "I'm so tired," she murmured, then added as an afterthought, "Thirsty, too."

Cordelia gave her the rest of the juice, which Dawn drank down.

Angel looked at Wesley, then back at Dawn. "Dawn, would you let Cordelia look at your stomach? Those wounds—I want to make sure they're healing okay."

Dawn nodded. "Okay." She yawned.

She knew that she could fall asleep in Angel's arms, and part of her really wanted to. He'd grown warm from contact with her, and she felt so safe, so cared for, that moving away from him didn't appeal to her even a little. But she was also feeling seriously averse to going to bed without washing her face and changing into pajamas.

"I think I'd like to go to bed now," she said.

"I can carry you up, if you want," Angel offered.

Dawn shook her head. "That's okay. Cordy?"

The Seer held out her hands. Dawn took them, and Cordelia pulled her from Angel's arms into her own. Dawn snuggled close to her.

"I'm really sorry about what I said to you, Cordy," the girl apologized.

Cordelia took her shoulders and looked right into her face. "Sweetie, that is so completely not a problem. Don't even think about it."

Dawn turned to Wesley. "I'm really sorry about yelling at you, too, Wesley."

The ex-Watcher shook his head. "Like Cordelia said, Dawn, it's not a problem. I understand perfectly."

Unable to summon enough emotional energy for anything more than a nod and a "Good night," Dawn allowed Cordelia to steer her to the stairwell, then up to their room.

Back in the lobby, Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. "What are we going to do, Wesley?"

His friend was in a similar posture, seated on the coffee table. "I really don't know. The child needs help dealing with her trauma, and none of us is qualified to be her therapist."

Angel lifted his head, rubbing his hands over his face. "What she went through—I can only think of one word to describe it."

Wesley nodded grimly. "Torture."

"That's the word."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment." The ex-Watcher looked thoughtful. "I think . . ."

Whatever he was about to say got pre-empted by the lobby doors banging open and Spike sauntering in. The younger vampire took one look at them and said, "What's with the long face convention? Somebody die?"

"Where have you been, William?" Angel demanded with far less heat than usual.

"Thought I'd swing by Caritas, see if Prancing Nancy the Host could give me some advice." Spike flopped down on the couch beside Angel and pulled out a cigarette, which was just as quickly taken away from him. Spike gave Angel a glare before continuing. "Place was 'closed for renovations.' So I hunted around for trouble. Got into a nice donnybrook with a few Sivo demons and their pet Pelath beast. Killed 'em all. What's the tragedy 'round here?"

Angel looked at him. "Take a sniff of my shirt and see if you can figure it out."

Spike looked mildly repulsed, but did so. He instantly froze, face going dead serious. "What's wrong with Dawn?"

"What isn't?" Angel shook his head. "She told us everything that happened to her. It was . . . just about as bad as it could get. Far too much for someone her age to have to bear."

"She all right?"

The genuine concern in Spike's face and voice seemed to catch Angel off-guard. The elder vampire scrutinized the younger for quite some time before replying. "She's better than she was, but she's far from all right. I don't know when she'll reach that—if ever." Angel gave a frustrated sigh and stood, collecting his coat. "I'm going to do a patrol of the neighborhood, see if I can work off some of this. Spike, you stay. Dawn needs at least one of us here—she needs to feel safe."

For the first time, Spike gave Angel no argument about his order. The younger vampire simply nodded. "All right, then. Where is she?"

"Her room." Angel swept out the front doors.

Spike sat for a few moments longer. Neither Wesley nor Gunn, who was busy pacing in the background, made any attempt to speak to him, and the vampire abruptly stood, shedding his coat and leaving it on the couch, and walked up the stairs.

Gunn hadn't spoken at all since Dawn's story. He broke his silence with, "You and Angel are right. That kid needs help, bad."

Wesley spread his hands helplessly. "I'm aware of that, but if she took her story to a psychologist, they really would think she's crazy. I don't see . . . I don't see what we can do for her." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I just hope that getting some of that out of her helped at least a little."

Listening from a nearby hallway was Rebecca. She'd been avoiding the others since her run-in with Spike, but she'd heard Dawn's story. Now, the former Slayer-in-Waiting leaned against the wall, pressing a hand against her chest.

Buffy Summers—all the Slayers, in fact—had always been textbook stories to Rebecca. She'd studied what was known of all of them down to the final "and another Slayer was Called." But Rebecca saw something new now: Buffy Summers was a young woman with a baby sister she loved more than anything. She was a daughter who had lost her mother. She was a friend. She was Angel's beloved. And still, she'd had to die. The world had demanded her death in order that others—including that much-loved sister, the one who had grieved in Angel's arms tonight—might live.

That's what a Slayer is, Rebecca thought, realizing something she never had before. That's what a Slayer does: sacrifice herself and all she is. How could I think I could ever do that?

Her jaw tightened in a way that would have been familiar to anyone who knew Wesley. I'll prove myself, she vowed silently. Somehow, I'll prove I was worthy of consideration. I'll find a way . . .

***

Spike slipped into the room Dawn and Cordelia shared with vampiric silence and ease. He could hear two hearts beating in the gentle cadence of sleep, and he didn't want to disturb the sleepers.

His keen eyes penetrated the dark as easily as if it had been full light. As he entered the bedroom, he picked out the two figures snuggled together in the bed. He moved closer.

Dawn was sleeping in Cordelia's arms, the older girl embracing the younger from behind, with not an inch separating them. Cordelia's beauty was softened and gentled by sleep, and Dawn looked even more childlike than usual.

The vampire moved closer still, reaching out toward them but never touching either. His hand felt the warmth rising from their bodies. In his ears, he could hear their breathing, their heartbeats, the blood rushing through their veins, and the hundred little bodily processes that continued even while they slept. Human bodies, it seemed to him, were terrifically busy.

Spike withdrew his hand and leaned down, taking in their scents. He found he could separate the two, even close as they were. Dawn's scent was somewhere between child and woman, sweet and spicy and bitter all at once. Cordelia's was pure womanhood, an intoxicating musk. All over both was the salt of tears and sorrow.

And all over both of them was _Angel_.

It had been Angel to whom Dawn had gone when she needed to be held. It had been Angel who had comforted her, Angel who had absorbed her tears. Spike knew that Dawn hadn't even gone looking for anyone but Angel, knew it without being told. She certainly hadn't sought out him, Spike. Why should she? It wasn't like Spike understood all this human affection.

He moved away from the bed and sat on a chair, facing the sleeping girls. There were times when he truly wanted to understand. Oh, intellectually he knew that humans liked a tender touch, liked being held and fussed over, but it was almost alien to him, a language he recognized but did not speak. He remembered sitting by Buffy as she agonized over her mother's illness, and he'd been unable to do anything more than offer her an awkward pat on the back. His mind flashed to Dawn in the tunnels near his crypt, painfully recounting how she felt it was her fault all these terrible things were happening. He'd wanted to comfort her then, but hadn't been clear on how to go about it.

Words were his medium. He could say what he felt, even speak comfort to a human. He wasn't too bad at it, actually, probably from years of soothing Dru out of her fits. When it came to physical expressions of comfort or affection, however, he was simply out of his depth with humans.

He'd even tried to express his love to Buffy in a way he understood, but somehow, she'd missed the message of the chains and death threats. What, honestly, was a bloke to do?

But Angel understood. He knew how to comfort Dawn, and he'd known how to love Buffy in a way she could accept. He even knew how to love Cordelia. Spike wasn't at all serious about his flirtation with the Seer—although, come to think of it, a few rolls with her would be diverting—but he was also painfully aware that if he had been serious, she, like Buffy, would never be able to accept him as a lover. She'd even take Angel over him.

It was all because of Angel's sodding human soul, Spike decided. It gave him a connection to Dawn that Spike could never have, no matter how hard he tried. Spike would forever be apart from her, separated by the fact that he was Other, with little in common except for his once-human body. And it genuinely frustrated him.

In Sunnydale once, he and Dawn had shared an outsider status—he because of being a vampire, she because of being the Key. The Scooby Gang hadn't truly understood either one, but Spike and Dawn had accepted each other with a matter-of-fact ease that dismayed the others. Spike had liked that, still liked that. He may have wanted Buffy as a lover, but he'd enjoyed Dawn as a friend.

But he wondered if he'd even have that anymore. It had been necessary to hurt her with words earlier, but she might not forgive so easily. Besides, why would she need him? Angel and his Charlies seemed to accept her just fine, probably because they hadn't been in Sunnydale for the past year, and worse yet, they had a soul connection with her that Spike didn't. Angel, too, knew what it was to be an outsider. He knew how to comfort her and show her love and affection. Why should Dawn choose Spike over that?

And did Spike really deserve to have her friendship, after failing her and Buffy so completely?

He had no answer to that. Finding he'd automatically pulled out a cigarette while reflecting, he tucked it back away. A smoke, desirable though it was for distracting him, would definitely wake the sleepers. He decided he wasn't going to follow his former line of thought any further, however. Any more brooding and he'd end up like Angel.

So he sat watching Dawn and Cordelia sleep, and he pondered the mysteries of human affection.


	4. Domestic Disturbances on Thursday

Chapter 4

Note: Thanks to Godiva for the Bloody Awful Haiku

Chapter 4

__

Dear Buffy,

I think I feel better today. Last night, I went a little postal. Wesley called it a panic attack. It was about as fun as it sounds. I ended up crying all over Angel. Again. Told you I would. I told them everything that happened, too. It feels like I'm lighter now, like, you know, I was carrying all that around by myself, and now I'm not.

Cordy and I had a good talk this morning. We laid around in bed for like an hour. I asked her what the worst thing that ever happened to her was, and she said the worst time of her life was when she was staying in L.A. but hadn't found Angel yet. She was barely making it and was scared she wouldn't, and she worried that she'd end up homeless or dead. She said she didn't know how she was going to pay for food sometimes, and she cried herself to sleep a lot of nights. That does sound scary. I guess everyone's got horror stories.

Speaking of which, the Fang Gang has a new case. There's a mother and daughter staying here, Sandra and Sarah Anne. They're running from Sandra's creepo mage husband. He's trying to kill Sarah Anne. I think she could give me a run for my money in the "life sucks" category, and she's only five.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know I'm doing better. I'm trying to be strong, I really am. Cordy says the strongest thing you can do sometimes is ask for help, so that's what I'm trying to do.

I really, really didn't mean what I said yesterday, Buffy. I love you. I really, really love you. I know you had to do what you did. It's okay. I'm okay. At least, I'm going to be. I love you.

***

Dawn finished her diary entry just as Cordelia emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and made up.

"Ready for breakfast, sweetie?" asked the Seer.

Dawn's stomach growled. "Really ready. I'm starved."

A delicious smell was wafting out of the breakfast nook when they reached it. Angel had made waffles. He loaded up two plates and set them on the table, then turned to Dawn.

She went eagerly into his embrace. "How are you doing?" Angel murmured.

"Better. Thanks for . . ." She trailed off.

"Anytime." He released her and looked seriously into her face. "We're all here for you anytime you need us."

"I know." She gave him a quick second hug, then made for her waffle. After smothering it in butter and syrup, she started wolfing it down, pausing only long enough for a few gulps of milk and orange juice. Cordelia watched her with amusement and satisfaction before turning to her own breakfast. Angel left.

A few minutes later, Dawn noticed Spike standing in the doorway, looking oddly unsure of himself. "Hey, Spike," she mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.

"You okay this morning, Little Bit?" the vampire asked, sounding hesitant.

Dawn had a feeling she was going to have to handle this question from everyone today. "I'm good. How about you?"

"I'm evil." Spike's usual devil-may-care attitude seemed to reassert itself. With mischief in his eyes, he sauntered over to the table, cleared a few items out of his way, and slid onto it. He stretched out, eyeing Cordelia. "Morning, Miss Cordelia. Can I do anything for you?"

"You can take a walk in the sun," suggested Cordelia, not missing a beat.

Spike winked at Dawn, enjoying this. Carefully, he reached over to Cordelia's plate, collected a little maple syrup on two fingers, and sucked them clean one at a time. "I was thinking more along the lines of attending to your . . . personal needs. Got any of those, luv?"

Cordelia didn't pick up the bait, having noticed something. "Okay, I don't remember you packing along any baggage when you invaded, so where did you come up with the leather pants? And please don't say you found them in Angel's closet."

Spike made a disgusted noise. "Like I'd wear anything of his, anyway. Found these in a store last night. They fit me so nice, I took 'em. Don't you like them?" He ran a hand down his thigh.

"You stole them?" Cordelia demanded.

"Of course." He caught on to her expression and leaned forward. "Did something naughty, did I? You going to spank me?"

Dawn nearly choked on her waffle. Cordelia spluttered, then finally managed, "All that peroxide has affected your brain, you know that? Go ooze off someplace else, slimy."

Spike, grinning at his verbal coup, oozed off the table and over to the refrigerator. He examined the Magnetic Poetry briefly, then started rearranging it. "Today's poetry lesson, ladies, is the haiku. Five syllables for the first line, seven for the second, and five for the third." He finished what he was doing, winked at Cordelia, and made for the door. He nearly ran into Angel, who was coming back in. "Morning, Peaches."

"Why do you call him Peaches?" asked Dawn, having gotten herself back under control.

"He looks like a Peaches to me. Doesn't he look like a Peaches to you?"

Angel smiled at Spike, not an ounce of amusement touching his eyes. "Spike. I'm so glad I ran into you. I've got something to show you." He grabbed the younger vampire by the upper arm and dragged him over to the fridge, which he opened. "See anything wrong in there?"

"No beer?" guessed Spike.

"No blood." Angel pointed. "Yesterday, there were three containers. Today, there's half of one. Care to explain?"

"What, you think I had something to do with it?"

"No, I think Dawn drank it." This earned a fervent "Gross!" from the table. "If you can't show a little self-control, you're no longer welcome here. Understood?"

Spike looked not at all repentant. "Perfectly, Peaches."

Angel looked him up and down. "Did you steal those pants from my room?"

That got Cordelia's attention. "Waitasec—you keep leather pants in your closet?"

Angel's expression turned guilty. "Well, they're expensive, you know, and I hate to throw anything away . . ."

He was saved by Wesley's voice calling down to them that Oz was on the phone. Cordelia stood up, putting her empty dish in the sink, but she didn't look like she'd set the subject aside for long. She pointed at Angel.

"We're going to have a long talk about leather pants, fang-face. That's just like saying 'I expect to go evil again someday soon.'"

Angel elected to let that pass. "Dawn, I know I said you wouldn't be on permanent baby-sitting duty, but would you mind keeping an eye on Sarah Anne while we conference?"

"No problem." Dawn drained the last of her orange juice and followed Cordelia in putting her dishes in the sink.

Cordelia, meanwhile, had gone over to the fridge. The Magnetic Poetry now read:

"You know you want it

No one resists the big bad

Go ahead—bite me!"

"Like it, luv?" asked Spike.

Cordelia turned on him with a disgusted expression. "Tell me, did you get the name William the Bloody because you're such a bloody awful poet?"

Spike looked hurt, but his protest was drowned out by Angel's laughter.

***

"Hello, L.A." Oz's voice was mellow as always as it spoke out of the speakerphone. Wesley, Cordelia, Angel, Gunn, Rebecca, Sandra, and Kate were all gathered around the desk it sat on.

"Oz," said Angel.

"Angel," said Oz.

"How are you?"

"Good. You?"

"Good."

"Good."

"Hey, Oz," said Cordelia.

Oz spread cheerfully laconic greetings to all in the room before handing the phone over to his girlfriend. She quickly showed herself to be quite a different type than the werewolf.

"This is Thia Matsoukis, comin' at you live from the den of the werewolf. Hello, L.A!" Thia's voice was a warm, full-bodied alto with a mischievous undertone. The gathered members of the investigation team exchanged a look. Apparently, Oz had gotten himself involved with A Character.

"Hello, Thia. This is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," said Wesley. "Thank you very much for agreeing to consult with us."

"Not a problem. Especially when I get to talk to someone with as sexy a voice as you." Wesley's ears went bright red, and Cordelia stifled a laugh. "So. What's the sitch?"

Sandra sensed she was up. "Hi, I'm Sandra. It's, um, a bit weird, I'll warn you."

Thia snorted on the other end. "I sleep with a werewolf. Not much weirds me."

Sandra laughed a bit herself, then told her story for the third time in as many days. Thia periodically asked questions for clarification, but otherwise did not interrupt. As the story wound to a close, the young mage sighed loudly.

"I think your witch friends were right," Thia concluded. "This guy sounds like a mage. Damn, what a piece of work!"

Angel leaned forward. "Thia, I'm Angel."

"You certainly are," said the voice on the other end. "Wow, you're gorgeous! Oz, why didn't you tell me how beautiful he is? Oh, sure, you never found him that attractive." The group in the office exchanged nonplused looks. Thia laughed again. "Sorry. One of my gifts is farsight—the ability to see people, things, and events in other places—and I've got a pretty good picture of all of you right now."

"Can all magi do that?" asked Angel.

"Nope. All of us have certain abilities, like calling light, bringing down the elements, moving things with our minds, kenning, etc. But each mage also has a set of abilities which is unique to him or herself. My specific talents are farsight, healing, and transmutation. I'm also developing a minor talent in precognition, but that's hardly worth talking about."

"What can you tell us about Andrew Burnham, from what you've heard?" asked Wesley.

"Mmm. It's a little tough to say, since I've never met him, but I can tell he's got a strong gift for manipulating weather, possible transmutation, and most likely telepathy. Those are just what I can tell from what Sandra said. He's probably got one or two other talents." Thia paused a moment. "The problem is, he's also messing in black magic. That's not good on an epic scale."

"Is it a common thing for a mage to practice witchcraft?" Wesley asked.

"Not common at all, thank God," answered Thia. "Factoid: magery and witchcraft do not mix. The only reason any mage would try to balance the two is in order to gain power, and you know what they say about power re: corruption."

Cordelia raised a hand. "Okay, maybe someone could explain to the class what the difference between magery and witchcraft is. This is Cordelia, by the way."

"Hi, Cordelia. Oz did mention you were 'kind of pretty.' My man likes his understatements." Thia seemed to be aiming that jab away from the phone. "It's complicated, but let me boil it down for you. Witchcraft isn't inborn in you; magery is. If you don't show an inclination toward magery by the time you hit puberty, you never will. Most magi are born from at least one mage parent. Witchcraft, on the other hand, can be learned. Witches invoke supernatural forces and spirits; magi don't. Magi manipulate natural forces and use natural energies, not supernatural ones. While witches often practice Wicca or other types of paganism, magi can fall anywhere along the religious spectrum. We can be Christian, Buddhist, atheist, agnostic, Zoroastrian, whatever. Our powers are strictly aspiritual. There are a lot of other minute points, but those are the main dividing lines.

"There is, though, one other major thing about magery that might be a big point here: mage powers are strictly limited. By that I mean that while you can refine your abilities, hone them to as sharp an edge as you want, you're born with a certain amount of power and once you've reached your limit, that's it. You'll never grow any stronger than that birth limit allows. And once you've developed all your specific talents, which normally happens by your mid-twenties, you'll never develop any more. Game over."

There was a moment of silence in the office. Angel turned to Sandra.

"How old was Andrew when he married you?"

Sandra shook herself visibly. "Twenty-six.

"So most likely, he'd already found that power limit," deduced Wesley. "I would speculate that when he discovered it, he began to work in witchcraft in order to augment his power."

"Sounds about right to me," agreed Thia. "You know, the third Article of the Code of the White says, 'Be content, and use what power you have to do good.' Sounds like this guy missed that lesson."

"What is the Code of the White?" asked Wesley.

"It's the code most magi live their lives by. It gives guidelines on how to use your power and on what's forbidden. The Articles are the positive 'Thou shalt' side, and the Strictures are the 'Thou shalt not.' Meddling in black magic is at the very top of the Strictures' hit list."

"So what happens if you violate the Strictures?" asked Angel.

Thia chuckled grimly. "Then you get a visit by the Order of the White, and that's the last thing you want. It kind of surprises me that this guy hasn't gotten himself in deep Dutch with them yet. He must've figured out a way to fly below their radar. I can tell you one thing, though: if the White did find out what this guy's doing, you wouldn't have to worry about him anymore."

"There any way we can get in touch with these White folks?" Gunn asked.

"Uh-huh. I think there's one teaching at UCLA, in fact: Dr. Zanita Banerjee, another Water Mage. My father knew her. In fact, she wanted him to join the White." Thia's voice had a touch of pride at that. "He didn't want to be at the beck and call of the Order, though, so he declined. Still, it was a great honor to be asked."

Questions had been piling up in Cordelia's brain. "Okay, maybe I'm just dumb, but I feel like I'm missing a lot here. Could you explain a few things? Like, what's a White? And what the heck is a Water Mage?"

Thia laughed again. "You're right. I am using a lot of terms non-magi wouldn't understand. First things first, I'll give you a crash course on your basic four kinds of magi. First, you've got your Water Magi, like me. Our powers are strongest when we're around bodies of water, or during a rainstorm. Living near the Oregon coast keeps my energy levels high. Most Water Magi will live near coastlines, in fact.

"Second, you've got your Earth Magi. They're strongest where there's a close connection to the land. That can mean anything from geological formations to farm country, and their power spikes when there's seismic activity. You'll find a lot of Earth Magi living along the edges of tectonic plates. They're especially fond of Alaska.

"Third, you've got Air Magi. They're the rarest kind. You'll almost never find them in or around cities, because they need clean air. Their most enviable talent is that they can fly. Some can even shapeshift into birds, but those ones are so rare you'd be lucky to meet one in a vampire's lifetime.

"Finally, there are the Fire Magi. The name is deceptive, because their power isn't actually tied to fire. Fire Magi are also known as Wild Magi, probably because their powers are so unpredictable. They spike at regular intervals with no other factors present, and they'll sometimes manifest talents they've never had, be able to use them for a day or two, and then lose them again. When their powers do spike, they're the strongest of us all. The one constant is that their powers seem strongest when they're around large numbers of people, so you'll find most Fire Magi in big cities. Got all that?"

"I think so," said Wesley. "Now, what about the Order of the White?"

"They're our watchdogs," Thia said. "For thousands of years, magi lived without any controls. Most were fairly decent sorts, but you know how power is. Some magi would set themselves up as rulers or even gods, and then they'd have battles with other magi, and innocent people would suffer. For that matter, normal good magi would have to conceal their powers for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention from either bad magi or ordinary humans who feared them.

"Then, along about the fifth century A.D., one dark mage did something especially stupid: he broke down a dimensional barrier and let a flood of Faeries into this world in the British Isles. He'd gained the knowledge of how to control them—probably the same tricks Andrew Burnham has figured out. Problem was, the Fey didn't take too well to magi trying to enslave them, and Bad Things started happening that, again, a lot of ordinary humans got caught in.

"This situation goes on for a bit. Then, one day, a man enters who's both a mage and has Faery blood. Can you guess who this guy is?"

"Merlin?" guessed Wesley.

"Give the man a gold star! It was indeed the Emrys. He and some of his fellow magi banded together to end the war with the Fey. Merlin himself battled the dark mage who started all of this nonsense and won. Then, of course, there were some long, drawn-out negotiations with the Mab, or Queen, of the Fey, and in the end, she agreed to end the war as long as someone kept an eye on the magi of our world. Hence, Merlin founded the Order of the White and wrote up the Code, and ever since, for nearly one-and-a-half millennia, the White have enforced it."

"What exactly does this Code entail?" asked Wesley.

"Oh, not too much you can violate without trying to. Mostly just do no harm with your powers, never use your powers offensively against non-magi, don't mess with time, keep your hands off the weather unless you know what you're doing, and, oh yeah, stay away from the witchcraft."

"I'm still not getting that whole thing," said Cordelia. "I mean, is there a specific reason why it's so bad to be a witch and a mage at the same time?"

"Yeah." Thia sounded very serious. "To put it simply, it gives you too much power. A mage has a degree of control over the natural; a witch has some control over the supernatural. Combine the two, and you've got someone on a serious power trip. You know, they tend to burn themselves out that way anyhow. Drawing on so many sources of energy, sooner or later they'll end up blowing a gasket and living as a drooling idiot for the rest of their very short lives. But do they ever listen? Nooo. So the White have to step in before they do too much damage."

Sandra spoke up, sounding hesitant. "What do the White do . . . I mean, when they catch someone like Andrew, what do they do to them?"

There was a pause before Thia spoke again. "It depends. A White Tribunal is convened and decisions are made. If the offense isn't too serious, if the mage is young and inexperienced or if it's a first-time offense, more often than not the White will let them off with a warning and make them hook up with a mentor.

"On the other hand, if damage has been done, if there's no question the mage knew what he or she was doing was wrong, the most common punishment is that the White will literally blast the power out of them. They'll send so much energy into the offending mage that he or she won't be able to absorb it, and it short-circuits the mage's own power. When it's all over, you've got an ex-mage who will never wield mage power again. I've been told the whole process is extremely unpleasant.

"In very rare cases, the Tribunal will hand down a death sentence. As I said, though, that's very rare. I can only think of a half-dozen or so cases I've heard about in which a death sentence was carried out by the White, and they were all, believe me, extreme."

Wesley nodded, looking at Sandra. "We understand. Tell me, Thia, do you have any idea what variety of mage Andrew is?"

"I'd say either Water or Fire," said Thia. "He lived in a city relatively close to the coast, in an area without any remarkable geology."

Sandra sighed, leaning on the table. "I think—I think that maybe the White would be a good idea. I mean, if you think they'd believe me. Do you think they would, Thia?"

"Oh, yeah," said Thia without hesitation. "Thing is, even if he has managed to keep himself hidden from the White before now, they'll still be able to track how he's used his power if their attention is drawn to him. Every time a mage uses power, it leaves a sort of imprint. If he's using power augmented by black magic, they'd also be able to sense that. They'd investigate, form a Tribunal, and I guarantee he couldn't run from that."

"Why would he be trying to kill Sarah Anne?" Sandra asked suddenly, almost interrupting Thia. "Do you know if that Faery woman was lying to me or if he really is trying to kill her?"

"Fey don't lie," stated Thia. "We know that much about them. They can be tricksters, yes, but if they speak, they speak the truth. And no, I don't know exactly . . . oh, Great Emrys, how old did you say your daughter is?"

Something in Thia's tone made everyone in the room tense. Sandra looked downright frightened as she answered the question. "She's six on Saturday."

"Great Emrys," Thia repeated. "Get the White. Now."

"Why?" asked Angel.

"Because of what he's about to do." Thia sounded sick. "There is a magic that is so deeply forbidden most of us won't even discuss it. Certain rituals, deeply bound in the darkest arts, that can drain the power of one mage into another. The worst of these is one in which a mage child's potential—not just mage power, but all the potential that child has—can be drained into an adult mage. Most magi are born to at least one mage parent, and that parent is able to recognize whether his or her child will grow up to have mage power. If Andrew sensed power in Sarah Anne and has decided to drain her potential to gain more power for himself—generally, the child doesn't survive, and the adult mage grows at least twice as strong as he was before. Here's the thing: the ritual must take place on the child's sixth birthday."

"Oh, God," whispered Sandra.

Thia continued. "The White will take this seriously, believe me. They'll take every step possible to protect you and your daughter. You know how I told you the death penalty is rarely invoked by the Tribunal? Well, two of the times I know of, it was invoked for magi who had performed just this ritual. In fact, not only did the White kill them, they banished their souls from this worlds-realm for eternity. That's how evil it is. If you have any objection to seeing Andrew dead, believe me when I say the best thing for him is to make sure he can never perform the ritual."

The people gathered in the office exchanged looks. Sandra looked like she might either faint or throw up, and Kate looked almost as sick. Finally, Wesley spoke again.

"Thia, thank you very much for consulting with us. You say this Dr. Banerjee works at UCLA?"

"Yeah. She should still be there. My father only died two years ago, and that's where he knew her from—he used to teach there, too." Thia paused briefly. "You know what? I'm going to Fed-Ex you guys something that might help. It's called a Water Sphere. What it is is a crystal globe with water inside it as well as an infusion of my own power. I'll also email instructions for using it. It's not that complicated, and it should be helpful if it comes down to fighting the bastard."

"Thank you for that as well," said Wesley. "You've been a great help, Thia."

"Just wish I could do more," she said. "On behalf of all magi who aren't total bastards, I'd like to apologize for this guy's existence."

Thia and Oz signed off, and the members of Angel Investigations were left with their thoughts.

***

Dawn sat on the stone bench in the courtyard and watched as Sarah Anne played. The child seemed perfectly content to play by herself with her one doll, which wasn't in great shape. Occasionally, Sarah Anne would say something directly to Dawn.

"These are my favorite flowers," Sarah Anne said suddenly, pointing at a patch of pansies. "I like them because they're purple. I like purple. It's my favorite color."

"I like blue," said Dawn.

"I like purple 'cause it's prettier. On my birthday, I'm going to get lots and lots of purple presents. Will you come to my birthday party?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to have a big party. There's gonna be lots of people, and cake and ice cream, and purple balloons, and lots of presents."

Dawn thought about it. From what Sarah Anne had said the other day, she didn't have many friends. Sandra probably hadn't planned a party, since she didn't even know where she and her daughter would be on Saturday. But the little girl had built her birthday up in her own mind as some sort of amazing event.

It's not fair, thought Dawn. She's going to be so disappointed. Doesn't her life suck enough already? Wish I could—

A sudden thought occurred to Dawn, and the teen smiled as Sarah Anne rambled on about her wonderful birthday party. It might be tough to convince Wesley, but Cordelia would help, and Dawn was pretty sure she could get Angel to go along. She would, of course, need to run it past Sandra, but Sarah Anne's mother would probably be only too eager to agree to Dawn's idea.

"Do you have bad dreams?" Sarah Anne's abrupt change of subject wrenched Dawn away from her plans.

Dawn nodded. "I have really bad dreams. Do you?"

The little girl climbed up on the bench beside the teen. "I dream that ugly monsters come and take me away from Mama. I got a bad daddy. What do you dream about?"

Dawn swallowed. "I dream I'm up really high, and there's a monster with me. He wants to hurt me, so I scream for my sister. Then I remember she . . . died."

"Oh. Is they going to make my bad daddy go away?"

"Yes. They will. That's what they do, help people."

"Like superheroes?"

"Like superheroes. That's what they are, you know. That's what my sister was, too."

Sarah Anne looked at Dawn. "Did she have powers?"

"Oh, yes. She was really strong and fast, and she could jump really high, and if she got hurt, she'd heal really fast."

"Could she fly?"

For a long, long moment, Dawn was silent. She finally managed to speak. "No. No, she couldn't fly."

Sarah Anne seemed to contemplate this, and then she went back to play. Dawn remained on the bench, deep in thought.

***

Spike had checked up on Sarah Anne and Dawn in the courtyard some time ago and, satisfied that they seemed to be safe, had taken to wandering the hotel looking for anything he could have fun with and/or swipe. His footsteps had finally taken him to Angel's suite.

He hit the closet first, muttering choice comments about his grandsire's fashion sense, then rooted around the rest of the rooms. Nothing terribly interesting to the younger vampire presented itself, although a nice gold chain did find its way into his pocket. In the bathroom, he examined Angel's hair gel.

"Same brand he was using in Sunnydale," Spike murmured. "The man really is immovable." Then he poured it down the sink.

The bed was Spike's last stop. It was carefully made, so carefully that it delighted Spike. Short-sheeting worked so much better when the victim was anal about these things. As he finished that task, the blond vampire's foot hit something tucked underneath the bed. Naturally, he investigated.

It turned out to be two drawing pads. Spike sat on the bed and leafed through the top one, discovering portraits of Angel's coworkers, the lovely blond Kate, Dawn, a few people Spike didn't recognize, and, surprisingly enough, Spike himself. Drusilla, too. Rather good pictures, too, if Spike recalled correctly from the last time he'd seen a photograph of himself.

"Hm," he grunted. "Hasn't lost his touch, then."

Something that did puzzle Spike a little was the fact that some pages seemed to have been torn out. Angel seemed the type to keep everything he drew, whether he judged it good or not.

Shrugging the question aside, Spike then opened up the second sketch pad. And stopped dead.

It was filled entirely with Buffy. Some of the leaves had obviously been torn from the first pad and transferred. It was Buffy in every mood, drawn in every style. Some pictures were colored, others were black and white, and one in particular was done in shades of sepia, like an old photograph. Buffy smiling, Buffy sad, Buffy angry, Buffy playful.

Buffy in love.

Spike knew the expression well, though he'd never seen it on Buffy's face directed at himself. But here it was: eyes shining, mouth soft, expression totally open.

For Angel.

Spike lifted the pad from his lap, holding it up to catch the light. As he did so, something slipped from between the pages. It was a letter. Spike picked it up from the floor and pulled it out of its envelope.

The letter smelled of Buffy, and he recognized her handwriting at once. Almost against his will, he began to read.

__

Dear Angel,

I had to write and tell you again how much your visit meant to me. Words seem so small, so inadequate, because you coming to me, holding me, meant the whole world that night. Everything seemed so wrong when I buried my mother, like nothing would ever be all right again. But then you came, and for those hours I spent in your arms, I knew it would be all right. That I would be all right.

Do you remember last year? Of course you do. I'm trying to forget parts of it. It seemed like we couldn't even be in the same city together. The gang would get their "intervention" look anytime I even mentioned you, and don't tell me Cordelia didn't duck and cover every time I came to town. She had good reason to, considering that horrible fight we had the last time I visited.

Maybe it's just what ex-lovers do, make each other miserable. I'm not going to get into that, because you've apologized a million times, and I've apologized a million times, and really, it doesn't matter.

The thing that matters, Angel, is that I was waiting there at my mother's grave because I knew—I knew—that you would be there for me. There was never even any question about it. I knew you'd come, and you'd hold me close and tell me I'd be all right, and you'd say everything I needed to hear. With you, I could be real. I could be weak, and you'd be there to catch me. Just like you always have. Just like I know you always will.

I haven't said this in a long time, way too long, but Angel—I love you. I still do. It's changed from how I felt when I was in high school. It's not the boyfriend/girlfriend "I need to be with Angel every second" thing. It's more like a constant background to who I am. No matter what happens, no matter who else is in my life, you'll always have a part of my heart, Angel, and I'm okay with that. More than okay. I'm glad that part is yours, because I know it's safe with you.

And that part you left with me? Don't worry. I'll take good care of it. Promise.

Thank you again, Angel. Words are never enough, but they're all I have. Thanks for being there, thanks for promising to take care of Dawnie if anything ever happens to me, thanks for believing in me. I only hope I can be there for you, too, whenever you need me. Remember that I am

Always Your Girl,

Buffy

A muscle twitched in Spike's jaw. Carefully, almost ritualistically, he re-folded the letter and tucked it back within its envelope. He used his vampiric sense of smell to detect the pages the letter had been tucked between—the pages that smelled of Buffy—and placed it back inside. Then he put the drawing pads exactly where he'd found them before leaving the room.

***

"Banerjee. Ban-er-jee. No, I don't know how to spell it—yes, I'll hold." Wesley sighed in frustration, grumbling under his breath about bureaucrats.

"How's it going?" asked Cordelia as she entered the office, holding a cup of peach yogurt.

Wesley looked up from the phone. He'd removed his glasses, fully revealing the irritated line growing steadily deeper between his eyes. "Apparently, tracking down a professor at UCLA requires the assistance of at least five different offices. What kind of a three-ring circus are you paying for with your tax dollars, anyway? This is what I'm trying to get dual citizenship for?" He started as someone finally got back on the line. "Yes, hello? Ah, wonderful. Yes, please transfer me."

Cordelia sat on the edge of the desk. "You think this is bad, you should try applying. When I took my acting class last fall, I got routed through eight different offices in three different buildings before I discovered they had me down as a chemistry major. Straightening that out took two months."

"Britain, I think, wins the world prize for truly heinous tabloid journalism," Wesley opined, "but America is far and away ahead of everyone else when it comes to hordes of unnecessary bureaucrats infesting every possible corner of life."

"I'll have to go with you on that one."

Wesley continued to wait on the phone as Cordelia perused the Lifestyles section of the paper, and finally, someone picked up. "Yes? This is Dr. Banerjee's office? Oh, thank God. Is she in? No? Do you know when she will be in?" Short pause. "Well, if you could leave a message for her to call us after her class," Wesley began, but was apparently interrupted. He listened again. "Very well, after her meeting, then. Our number is . . ." There was another long pause. Cordelia could just hear an annoyingly perky voice on the other end. "Will she be back to her office at all today?" Wesley finally asked in exasperation. After yet another pause, he nodded and said, "Fine. If you could leave her a message to call Angel Investigations, I'd be most grateful. Please tell her it's urgent, and no matter when she gets in, someone will be here." He gave the office aide their number and hung up. "Bugger it all," he muttered as he did so.

"So what's the news?" asked Cordelia around a mouthful of yogurt.

"The news is that Dr. Banerjee won't be available until 7:00 PM at the earliest. However, the aide did say she's very good at returning calls. That gives me hope." The Englishman sighed deeply. "We're running out of time rapidly. I do hope this all goes smoothly."

***

In one of the first-floor bedrooms, Rebecca Martin-Pryce sat on a bed, absorbed in an ancient, leather-bound tome. Her forehead crinkled as she mentally translated the Gaelic it was written in. Periodically, she would consult one of three other books she had appropriated from her uncle's library. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

She flipped a few pages in one of the other books, then compared something in it to something in the huge volume in her lap. After carefully pronouncing a few words in Gaelic, then Latin, the young woman let out a squeak of delight.

"Slayer-Reject, am I, William the Bloody?" she murmured, smiling. "This is perfect. Just perfect . . ."

***

"The problem with being a vampire," Spike declaimed to the empty penthouse, "is that it's so damned difficult to get properly drunk." He followed this declaration with a gulp of whiskey, finishing off the bottle in his hand. It was swiftly tossed aside and replaced with a full one.

"Watch where you're throwing those," said a voice from the doorway. Spike turned and looked the speaker up and down.

"Well. If it isn't one of the Three Musketeers," the vampire snorted. "Afternoon, Porthos."

Gunn glared at him. "Name's Gunn.'"

"My apologies, Gunn." Spike tried the name on for size. "Gunn. Should've gotten a name like Spike, Gunn. See, any idiot can shoot a gun and kill somebody, but it takes brains and balls to get up close and do 'em in with a railroad spike through the head. Took me awhile to figure out where to put the thing to kill 'em instantly—or not, depending on what you were plannin' to do with 'em. Guns, you just bang! Kill at a distance. Where's the fun in that?"

"In the first place, I don't kill for fun. In the second place, Gunn is my last name, not some handle I picked up. In the third place, didn't Angel tell you no drinking?"

"He did indeed. Here's to you, Gunn." Spike toasted the young man with the bottle and took another swig, then sat down. "I'm havin' a bad day, mate. Wanna hear about it?"

Gunn looked at him. "Do I look like I want to hear about it?"

"So why're you up here, if not to listen to my sorrows?"

In answer, Gunn walked across the penthouse and collected a few weapons that were lying on the floor—an axe, a broadsword, a pair of sais, and a quarterstaff. "Cordy's doing an inventory of the weapons, and she asked me to bring down anything I found up here, 'cause this is one of Angel's practice rooms."

Spike laughed. "Doing Miss Cordelia's bidding. I should've guessed. The lot of you are so pathetically whipped." He raised the bottle again. "Here's to Miss Cordelia, she of the nicely-rounded posterior and manicured fingers, every one of which has a man wrapped neatly around it."

"What are you trying to pull with her anyway? You think she'd really go for a bloodsucker like you?"

The vampire slowly got to his feet, the glint of battle growing in his eyes. "Does it bother you, Gunn? Does it bother you that we've both got approximately the same chance with the lovely Cordelia?"

"You're trippin'," declared Gunn.

"You think you've got more of a chance with her than me?" Spike laughed again. "The girl does have standards, you know. You think a street rat like yourself could ever make time with Queen C?"

"Okay, first place: I'm not after Queen C. Second place: you keep your hands where they belong—which is way, far away from her—or you get dusted. Got that, Blondie?"

"You really think you've got the stones to kill me?"

"I know I do." Gunn held Spike's gaze steadily. "I've been dusting vamps half my life. I even staked my own baby sister when she got vamped. So don't think I'll feel bad about doing you."

"Staked your own baby sister." Spike gave the young man a truly artful look of shock. "Why would you ever do a thing like that?"

"What, you deaf? She was. A vampire."

"I got that part. What I'm asking is: what did she do to deserve getting staked? Slaughter your best friends? Kill your mum? Was she out on the streets draining toddlers at random? What heinous act could have prompted her own brother to kill her?"

Anger, pain, and confusion warred for dominance in Gunn's features. "I staked her so she wouldn't do anything like that. So she wouldn't be like you."

"Like me?" Spike asked, looking perversely innocent. "Me, valiant defender of sweet little girls with brown hair and big blue eyes? Me, trusted comrade-in-arms of the Slayer?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Do I, now?" The vampire's face suddenly cleared of its contrived confusion. "Oh, you didn't want her to be like Angel! Now I get it."

Gunn had had enough. He dropped the weapons and strode forward, grabbing Spike by the collar. "Angel's good, Bleach. Not like you."

Spike seemed unfazed by his position. "That's right. You never met Angel without his soul. You should've seen him back in the day. Want to hear about how he earned his 'Scourge of Europe' merit badge?"

"Shut up!"

"But then, he got a second chance. Guess that was too much to ask you to give your poor li'l sis."

That was too much. Gunn pulled back a fist and struck Spike full in the face, knocking him across the room. "You don't know anything about me and Alonna, so stop messin' with my head!"

"Alonna." Spike rolled over to find his bottle of whiskey sitting nearby and lifted it in a toast. "Here's to Alonna. May she rest in peace, wherever it is you sent her to."

The young man stood glaring at the vampire, trembling with rage, eyes filled with pain. After a moment, he finally spoke again, voice shaking. "You wanna be staying away from me, vampire. I swear, if I catch you alone again, I will kill you."

Gunn turned, gathered up the weapons he'd dropped, and left the penthouse. After he was gone, Spike toasted the empty doorway and drained the rest of the bottle.

That one was tossed in another random direction, and Spike drew a third bottle out of the stash he'd created for himself.

"Here's to love," he said, and downed a gulp. "I'm through with you, you bastard. Hear that? I'm through with love." A thought struck him.

" 'I'm through with love, I'll never fall again,'" he sang. " 'Said adieu to love, don't ever call again.'" He looked puzzled. "Or is it the other way around? No, gotta be that. What's the next words?"

After thinking about it for a few moments, he continued. " 'For I must have you or no one, and so I'm through with love.' Can't ever remember the next part. Something about—oh, yeah. 'I've locked my heart, I'll keep my feelings there, I've stopped my heart with icy, frigid air, and I mean to care for no one, 'cause I'm through with love.'"

He'd wandered into the middle of the room by now, and he threw his arms wide, belting out the next words. " 'Why did you lead me to think you could care? You didn't need me, for you had your share, of friends around you to hound you and swear, with deep emotion, devotion to you.'" He looked satisfied. "Take that, poncy Host. I can sing."

Spike swallowed another few ounces of whiskey before singing the final stanza. " 'Goodbye to spring and all it meant to me, it could never bring the thing that used to be, for I must have you or no one, and so I'm through with love.'"

He stood there, then, blankly staring at the wall. "Through with love," he muttered. He examined the last of the whiskey in the bottle. "Here's to you, Summers. You've officially made me doff my proud title of 'Love's Bitch.' Rest in peace, Slayer." He drank off the last of the alcohol, then tossed the bottle behind him.

A few seconds later, he came to the realization that the bottle, in total defiance of all the laws of physics, had not hit the floor and shattered. He felt he ought to be curious as to what had caused this phenomenon, so he turned around.

The bottle was, in fact, suspended in mid-air . . . by Angel's hand. The elder vampire was examining it with a contemplative expression. Spike laughed and sat down hard on his bum.

"That's a neat trick," he said.

Angel nodded pensively. "Spike, I think you're drunk."

"I beg your pardon," sniffed Spike. "The technical term is 'shit-faced,' thank you very much." Angel nodded again, looking placid. Spike was severely disappointed. "You're not killing me, I notice."

Angel came further in, still looking at the bottle. Finally, he crouched down in front of Spike, setting the bottle on the floor between them. "Actually, I had a bet going with myself as to when you'd do this, seeing as you've been systematically breaking all my rules."

"Swore in front of Dawn yesterday," Spike said helpfully.

"I figured that would be one of the first to go. And you beat my schedule for getting roaring drunk by several hours. I honestly didn't think you'd hit the sauce until tonight at the earliest."

Spike thought that was funny. "I'm above average!"

Angel chuckled, then reached out, grabbed Spike's collar, and forced the younger vampire to meet his eyes. "Why was Gunn spitting nails when he came downstairs a few minutes ago?"

"We were just chattin'," Spike shrugged. "Small talk. Weather. Sports. Families."

"Gunn's family is an off-limits subject. Understood?"

"You oughta talk to him. Got something in common, after all—you both killed your baby sisters. Wasn't li'l what's-her-name about Dawn's age when you drained her dry?"

"A year or two younger. Get sober, Spike."

"Why?!" Spike suddenly shouted. "So I can think about _her_ again? Not likely, mate. Not bloody likely. I haven't got a fondness for pain." He thought about that. "Actually, I do. But I don't like this inside stuff." He thumped a finger on his chest. "Not proper pain. Just dull ache."

The younger vampire forced himself to his feet and stumbled toward his stash of booze. Angel was there before him, blocking the way. He didn't look angry, though; he looked curious.

"You're grieving," the elder vampire noted. "You're really grieving her, aren't you?" For some reason, neither vampire could bring himself to say Buffy's name.

Spike stared at him. "Your perception knows no bounds, poofy sire. Yes, I'm grieving her. That or I've got this hole in my heart for nothing. I'd hate to think that." He started to walk around Angel, then stopped and looked the elder vampire in the face again, suddenly angry. "You're not the only one who's got the right to be in love with her, you know. You're not the only one who gets to be in pain now she's gone. What makes your grief so special, anyway?"

"I never said it was."

"Oh, but everyone treats you special. I was the first one to cry for her—me and Red started about the same time, rather. But _you_, all the Scoobies said _you'd_ be so devastated, and Red cried and said she had to tell _you_ personally and all that rot, and _you_ came, you with your little support group, and they all fussed and fluttered and worried about how _you_ were taking it, but did anyone think of Spike? No, Spike'll get along just fine. He's a vampire, you know, without the sodding soul that makes Angel so special. Send Little Bit off with Angel, he'll protect her better than Spike, and he won't corrupt her the way Spike will. If Red and her lovergirl hadn't seen me here, they'd never have even noticed I was gone. Or maybe Xander would have made some comment about how nice it is around Sunnyhell now that he's not seeing me anymore. Wanker."

Angel cocked his head. "That was a spectacular pity party, Spike. I'm in awe."

"Wasn't it, though?" Spike giggled unsteadily. "I deserve it, don't you think?" He waved a hand. "No, don't say it. I don't. I know I don't. I should've seen it coming, and I missed it. I should be in pain."

"You should've seen what coming?" asked Angel.

Spike gestured to indicate either the penthouse or the universe in general. "It. Buffy. Her taking a dive. I should've seen it. I coulda told her, but . . ."

"Spike, no one could have predicted what Buffy did. There was no way anyone could have known her blood could substitute for Dawn's to close the portal."

"Not that!" Spike gave a snort of derision. "The specifics don't matter. It was what I saw in her eyes, mate. I knew it would happen someday, but when it did, I was as blind as the rest. I even told her, I warned her, but neither of us put it all together before it was too late."

Angel shook his head as if to clear his vision. "Spike, what in hell are you talking about?"

"Death, you moron. I told her, you know. I told her that the day would come when she'd be wanting it."

"What?!"

Spike didn't appear to notice the thunderclouds in Angel's eyes. "Walking on the edge like a Slayer does, dancing with death, flirting with it, you think they never develop a death wish? Even Buffy had one, only she kept it controlled with her family and her mates. And I watched as it was all stripped away from her. Captain Cardboard was the first to go, her mum died, her so-called father couldn't be bothered to show his face, little sis turned out to not be little sis—you know that when Glory took Dawn, Buffy's brain took a vacation? Willow had to crawl inside her head to bring her back." Spike was pacing, almost talking to himself. "Even you, mate. You'd gone and left her years before. You were only the first to leave.

"And the thing is, I knew it was coming down. I watched as she lost again and again, and I'd told her, you know, months before. I told her, 'Sooner or later, you'll want it.' Told her I'd be there when it happened. Told her . . ." Spike began giggling almost uncontrollably. "I told her it'd be a real good day for me. Then the end came, and I missed seeing it in her eyes. That's what love does. Blind love. The day came, and you know what?" The giggles sounded more like sobs now. "It wasn't a good day, mate. Wasn't a good day at all. 'Cept for her. She probably took death with a smile."

"Stop it!" Angel was in Spike's face, grabbing and shaking him. "Buffy wouldn't have given up. That wasn't her. You know nothing."

"I was there!" Spike yelled back. "I know what I saw. Little Bit was all that mattered to her anymore, and she took death rather than let anything happen to her baby. She welcomed it with open arms . . ."

Angel threw Spike across the room, snarling. "Shut up, Spike!"

"Saw it coming for months," Spike muttered from the floor. "Missed it in the end." He lifted his eyes, and they were suddenly filled with fire. "You wanna hurt me for that? Go right ahead."

And Spike charged. He was too drunk and too angry to make it anything but clumsy, and Angel tossed him aside again. Even drunk, though, Spike was still far more nimble than any human. He sprang to his feet and flew at Angel, fists at the ready. The elder vampire blocked the blows that came his way, then struck Spike in the gut with his own fist. The younger vampire doubled over. Angel grabbed him and shoved him up against one of the windows. The plastic covering made the sunlight filtering through it tolerable, though barely, for both vampires. Spike grabbed a handful of plastic sheet and yanked it aside. Direct sunlight scorched Angel's arm and shoulder, and the elder vampire dropped and rolled away, snarling in pain. When he stood, a bright sunbeam separated the vampires.

"You think I like this?" Spike demanded, gesturing at his chest. "This thing inside me? It hurts! I should've seen it, should've stopped it, should've told her what I saw, but I didn't! I couldn't even stop that Doc from hurting Dawn. If she could've saved Little Bit, she might have held on longer, but she didn't, and it's _my fault_! And now I've got this . . . this . . ." He tried to think of the right word. "Is this guilt? Is that what it is?" He shook his head. "I don't feel guilt. I'm a demon, you moron! I haven't got a sodding soul to make me feel sodding guilt over a sodding Slayer dying! That's _your_ department, you toothless wonder! I'm Spike. Idiot Watchers call me the Slayer of Slayers. I don't feel guilt because they die! I kill them!" Spike turned, pacing again. "Killed her. Might as well have. Might as well have done her in myself . . ." He held his head in his hands, fighting with his own emotions.

"William."

The name was spoken gently. Spike turned to see Angel, across the sunbeam, crouching down, elbows on his knees. The elder vampire lifted his eyes to his grandchilde. "William."

Angel's eyes were clear, full of naked emotion, as was his voice. For the first time, there were no barriers between the vampires. For the first time, Spike knew exactly what Angel felt, and knew Angel knew what he felt. And he knew Angel felt for him. It was as if Spike could touch the intangible bond that could never be broken between them. All the complex emotions they'd had for each other over the years: animosity, disdain, affection, raw hatred, grudging respect, love.

Spike stood, stock-still, absorbing all of this into his suddenly-clear brain. It was too much, this moment of understanding. He wanted to remember the Angel he despised, the one who despised him. To see the one he loved, would always love, no matter how much he wanted to be free of him . . .

"Bugger this," Spike growled. He removed himself from the penthouse with vampiric swiftness, which still seemed far too slow.

***

The day passed calmly, but with an underlying tension no one could help but feel. Gunn remained in a bad mood for an hour or so, in which time he silently helped Cordelia with her weapons inventory. Not being a champion brooder, however, he came out of it soon enough.

Angel, naturally, was a different story. After his run-in with Spike, he went to his suite and closed the door for several hours. Wesley charitably suggested he might be sleeping.

Around five-thirty, Dawn was sitting on the lobby couch thoroughly engrossed in Guardians of the West by David Eddings when Fred sat down beside her and began talking.

"Can I ask you a question, sparkly girl?"

Dawn shrugged, unsure of what to make of Fred. "Sure."

"Why is it you sparkle? I mean, you remind me of something, but I can't quite remember. You know how it is when your head gets all full of stuff, and you're trying to think of one thing except you think of another? That happens to me a lot." The young woman was nervously twisting her hair around her fingers as words tumbled out of her mouth. "Anyways, I was just wondering why you don't look the same as everybody else, if you don't mind me askin'."

What the heck, thought Dawn. "I'm the Key. I used to be a big blob of energy until some monks made me human."

"Oh!" Fred brightened up considerably. "Oh, that explains everything! I must just be seein' your energy matrix is all. How'd they overcome the difficulties inherent in matter/energy transfer, though? I mean, reducing matter to energy is pretty easy, but turning energy into matter—that takes some doing. You see . . ." And Fred was off and running with an involved explanation of Einsteinian physics, plus a few of her own theories.

Dawn just watched her in awe and absently wondered if Willow would have any idea what the heck this person was talking about. When Fred finally wrapped up her dissertation, Dawn said, "I really don't know how they did it. I just know I'm not really, you know, real."

Fred cocked her head, pixie face creased with confusion. "Now, that I don't get, sweet thing. Energy's just as real as matter, and you seem to be both, so it seems to me you're real. Am I missin' something?"

"I-I don't know." Contemplating her existence had been a full-time occupation for Dawn over the last few months. Fred's information threw everything Dawn had thought out the window. "I mean, when you put it that way, I guess I am real."

"Oh, good," Fred sighed in relief. "I'm so glad. I thought maybe my head was going spinning off in the wrong direction again. Sometimes I can't tell when I'm asleep or when I'm awake. The nightmares, sometimes they seem so real, and I just don't know . . ." She trailed off, the vibrancy she'd gained while discussing physics gone and replaced with a lost expression.

Dawn's heart went out to her. Cordelia had said Fred had been sucked through a portal into a world where demons ruled over humans. The young girl decided that would be enough to make anyone a little crazy. "It's okay," Dawn reassured her. "I have nightmares, too."

"Bad things happen," agreed Fred softly.

Gunn came over. "Okay, Fred, I need your input. We're going to order pizza, but we don't know what you like on yours."

"Pizza? I-I'm not sure I remember pizza." Fred was pulling at her hair again.

"Sure, you do," said Dawn. "It's round and flat, with cheese and meat, like pepperoni . . ."

"Oh!" cried Fred. "You cut it up like triangles? And pepperoni, those are little round things, real spicy? I like those. Mushrooms! I like mushrooms! I remember pizza. I remember pizza, Gunn!" She bounced a little, happy to have recovered another piece, however small, of her past.

Gunn smiled and winked at Dawn. "Sounds good to me. We'll get a large, one half pepperoni and mushroom, and Cordy said you liked Hawaiian, Dawn."

"It's my favorite," confirmed the girl.

"Good. I like both of those. We'll let English and Cordy argue about the other one."

Cordelia and Wesley finally settled on another large, one half cheese (to accommodate Sarah Anne, who didn't like toppings), one half vegetarian, and the order was placed.

Just as the meal wrapped up, Cordelia gasped, hands coming up to her head. Gunn grabbed her just as the vision hit.

"Angel!" shouted Wesley. The vampire was in the lobby so fast no one saw him arrive.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Sandra, voice edged in panic. Fred curled up on the couch and moaned.

"It's a vision," explained Wesley hastily. "She's perfectly all right."

"Speak for yourself," said a weak voice. Cordelia steadied herself against Gunn. "You know that White person Thia told us about, Zina what's-her-nose?"

"Zanita Banerjee?" asked Wesley.

"Yeah. Her. She's in danger out at UCLA. There are some ugly mangy orangish demon dogs hunting her down."

Sandra gasped. Wesley and Angel looked at her.

"What Cordelia said—those dogs?" Sandra had turned white. "Those sound like the things Andrew uses to hunt us down."

Wesley turned to Cordelia again. "I have a course catalog with a map of the campus on the back of it. Could you indicate where all this is taking place? UCLA is a big campus."

"I think so." A few minutes later, Cordelia had done just that, and Angel and Wesley were out the door. Gunn remained behind, as Wesley wanted at least one fighting member of the team with Sandra and Sarah Anne at all times.

Cordelia felt the need to lie down somewhere dark, so Dawn took her upstairs. Sandra and Sarah Anne went with Gunn into the kitchen to do dishes, while Gunn tried valiantly to reassure them they would be safe.

No one at all noticed when Rebecca walked into the lobby, looked around for a moment, shrugged, and then went to the lobby doors. She was holding a small bundle of herbs with a silver chain wrapped around them. With careful precision, she laid the bundle, as well as a small amulet with a glowing stone, on the floor right where the doors met, then chanted softly in Latin. A moment or two later, the bundle and the amulet burst into bright green flames. The flames consumed the herbs in seconds. When they went out, only the chain and the amulet were left, and the light in the amulet's stone had gone out.

Satisfied, Rebecca collected the chain and the amulet and tucked them into her pocket. After that, she went over to the lobby table, picked up Dawn's book, carefully marked the page Dawn had left it open to, and began reading it from the beginning.

***

UCLA was indeed a big place. With, as Angel soon discovered, not nearly enough parking. He growled as he and Wesley hunted for a space.

"I hope we're here in plenty of time," he groused. "The Powers That Be might find themselves circumvented by lack of parking."

Wesley pointed. "Someone's pulling out. Vulture park, Angel!"

The black convertible slid into the space bare seconds after it was vacated, and vampire and former Watcher were on the hunt.

Angel's night vision spotted the demon dogs first, running through a lightly-wooded area of campus. There were three of them, each about the size of a Great Dane, but with oversized fangs and claws and completely devoid of the Great Dane's beauty or dignity. Wesley hefted his crossbow and fired. His aim was perfect, taking one through the throat.

The other two wheeled to face the unexpected attack, snarling. Their strides closed the distance between them and their attackers in seconds, and one was upon Wesley before he could reload. Angel, who had been ready to take on the other, paused long enough to use his battle-axe to slash the throat the one attacking Wesley. In that moment, the second one slipped around them, running toward the Arts building. Angel took off after it as soon as he was sure Wesley was all right.

Zack Hampson was just exiting the building when a snarling, vicious beast nearly mowed him down. The snowboarding enthusiast flattened himself against the door he'd opened, narrowly avoiding the thing. It ran past him, pausing only to howl before running off down the hall. Zack peered after it and was nearly run over again by a large, dark man wielding a blood-covered axe.

"Sorry!" shouted the man as he chased after the beast.

"No problem," said Zack. He shook his head. "Maybe it's time to lay off the weed," he murmured to himself. He turned again, preparing to leave, and was promptly flattened.

The person who'd just run over Zack got to his feet and began apologizing in a British accent. "I'm so terribly sorry," he said, giving Zack a hand up. "Are you quite all right?"

"Just fine," answered Zack absently.

British Guy looked into the building, then back at Zack. "Um, this may sound a bit strange, but the man who just ran in here—tall, dark, with an axe—did you happen to see where he went?"

"To the right. After the . . . thing."

"Much obliged. Thank you!" British Guy took off down the hall.

Zack shook his head again. "Definitely time to lay off the weed."

Angel, meanwhile, had chased the demon dog down three different hallways, narrowly avoiding students and faculty getting out of late classes. He really hated it when these escapades became public, but there was no avoiding it now. The demon dog seemed driven toward a particular destination.

Down another hallway, and a sudden turn to the right, and the demon dog ran into a classroom, Angel close on its heels. The vampire had just enough time to perceive a roar from the dog and a scream from a woman, and then, Angel raised the axe over his head, sighted the dog, and threw the axe forward. The axe buried itself in the demon dog's back, just behind its head, and it fell dead at the feet of the woman it had been attacking.

She looked from the dead demon dog to her rescuer, and Angel looked back at her. Dr. Zanita Banerjee was a remarkably handsome woman, tall and fine-boned, with caramel-colored skin and long, thick black hair touched here and there with silver. Angel estimated her to be in her mid-forties. Her chestnut eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

"Hello," Angel said, feeling he ought to attempt conversation at this point. He stepped forward.

And suddenly couldn't move. Banerjee held her hand out in front of her, palm out. Angel felt as if he was enclosed in crystal.

"Two questions," she said, her English crisp and British but flavored with a slight Indian accent. "First, who is sending a demon dog—one charmed against magery—after me; and second, why has a vampire just saved my life?"

Angel opened his mouth to explain, but was stopped by Wesley skidding into the room. The ex-Watcher assessed the situation quickly.

"Dr. Zanita Banerjee, I presume?" he asked.

"Indeed. And you would be?"

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce of Angel Investigations. This is my associate, Angel. We've been trying to get in touch with you, Dr. Banerjee."

The mage cocked an eyebrow, a faint trace of amusement in her eyes and mouth. "You appear to have done so."

Wesley looked at Angel. "You needn't be quite so stiff," the ex-Watcher muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"I can't move, Wesley." Angel sounded distinctly irritated. Wesley looked at Banerjee.

"Perhaps it's just my prejudices," she said, very dry, "but I don't find vampires relaxing company, in general terms."

"This vampire is different," Wesley hastened to explain.

"It would appear so." Banerjee approached Angel, looking him over. A puzzled frown settled between her eyes, and she set a hand on his chest. The puzzled look gave way to astonishment. "You have a human soul. How remarkable!"

Angel slumped as her power released him. "Gypsies," was all he said.

"You must have offended them greatly," observed the mage. "To lock a human soul into a vampire . . . I cannot imagine a greater torment." She flicked a glance at the demon dog's corpse. "Yet you have saved my life. There is much about this I wish to know."

"I'm afraid we don't have time," Wesley interjected. "We seek the aid of the White, Dr. Banerjee. A woman and her child have come to us for help, and we think the White may be the best ones to deal with the situation."

Banerjee gave one more look at Angel, still obviously hungry to hear his story, but turned and grabbed a set of keys off the table at the front of the room. "Come with me to my office. These are not matters for discussion where we may be overheard." As she passed the body of the demon dog, she made a slight gesture, and it disappeared. 

"Translocation," she explained. "Apparently, the anti-magery charm ended when it died. It's currently in the sewers."

Her office was in the building, and after she shut and locked the door, Wesley explained Sandra's story in short form. Banerjee listened, her expression grave.

"I remember Georges Matsoukis," she said when Wesley finished telling her about Thia's call. "His daughter is correct. This is a situation the Order will be most interested in. Tell me, can you keep the child safe until tomorrow night?"

"We should be able to," said Angel.

"Good. The White must investigate, see how deep this man's crimes run and how he has managed to hide from us, if indeed all you say is true. If a Faery has been enslaved, the consequences could be dire for all magi." Banerjee folded her arms, looking pensive. "Twenty-four hours should be enough time. Come back around this time tomorrow evening, and I will let you know what we have learned and what steps we will take."

"We shall," said Wesley. "Are there any steps you would recommend we take until then?"

"You warded the hotel, which was a good idea." Banerjee rubbed her chin. "Another good idea would be to learn a simple binding spell—you have used magic before, have you not?" Wesley nodded. Banerjee fetched a slim volume from her top shelf and marked a page. "Get an Orb of Ikonos and ready the spell I marked. If Burnham attacks before the White have reached our decision, the spell should bind at least some of his power. Thia's Water Sphere should be of help, too. Let us hope, however, that it will not come to that. I shall ask the White to expedite this matter."

"We appreciate your aid," acknowledged the ex-Watcher. "We will return tomorrow evening for your decision.

***

They stopped at a magic shop on the way home to purchase the spell ingredients they didn't already have. This included the Orb of Ikonos, a crystal sphere about the size of a small apple that glowed with an unearthly radiance and cost an ungodly amount. Wesley could practically hear his credit card shrieking.

When they got back to the Hyperion, Angel seemed a little edgy.

"What's wrong?" asked Wesley.

The vampire glanced over his shoulder as he and his friend approached the front door. "I don't know. I just . . . felt like something was watching me for a second there." He shook it off, and he and Wesley entered the lobby . . .

And were promptly run over from behind by the largest demon dog they'd yet seen. It was the size of a Saint Bernard, with fangs and claws in proportion. Angel leaped to his feet, scanning the lobby. Gunn, Dawn, and Rebecca were all in evidence, and all froze for just a moment as the beast snarled. Dawn was the first to recover, and she did the most sensible thing she could think of: she screamed.

Wesley had retrieved his crossbow and was about to shoot, but as the beast ran to the stairs, it was intercepted by Spike. The younger vampire tackled the thing to the floor, heedless of the claws raking him, and a loud, crunching snap echoed through the lobby as he broke the beast's neck.

"That was fun," the blond commented as he hauled himself to his feet. "What is this thing, anyway?"

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Cordelia from the top of the stairs. She was joined immediately by Sandra.

"Oh, God," whispered the woman. "It's one of his hounds."

"Bad Thing," hissed Fred from beside the stairs.

"Are you okay, Spike?" asked Dawn.

Gunn turned to Wesley. "I thought you said those witches did something to keep demons out of here."

"They did." Wesley blinked. "I don't understand."

"Dr. Banerjee said they were charmed against magery," said Angel. "Could they have also been charmed against witchcraft?"

Wesley shook his head. "She said they were controlled by witchcraft. There's no way they could be charmed against it at the same time. It shouldn't have been able to cross the threshold."

Angel turned around, sniffing at the air. He walked back to the front doors, a puzzled expression on his face, and stooped low, still sniffing. "There's a familiar smell here," he murmured. Abruptly, he turned, approaching different people in the lobby. When he got to Rebecca, he stopped, leaning in close and smelling her.

His face darkened. One hand was suddenly in her pocket, and the vampire fished a silver chain and an amulet out of it. "Wesley, this look familiar to you?"

Wesley came over and examined it. Rebecca looked from one to the other nervously. Her uncle suddenly turned on her, tightly controlled anger in his face.

"Rebecca," he said slowly, "what have you done?"

"Nothing, Uncle Wesley," she insisted. "Nothing bad, anyway. I found a spell, one that's supposed to work against magi, and I thought it would be useful."

"So you just performed it without consulting one of us?" Wesley's voice was deadly quiet. "Rebecca, those spells Willow and Tara placed on the building were carefully balanced. That's why we got experienced witches to place them. Who knows what effect your spell has had on that balance? It's quite possibly corrupted every protection spell on this building."

Rebecca went pale. Her mouth opened, then shut.

"Nice work there," said Spike. "Any other helpful ideas?"

"Shut up, Spike," Wesley snapped. "Cordelia, get Willow on the phone. She may have some ideas for reinstating their spells."

"Sh-should Sarah Anne and I leave?" asked Sandra from the stairs. She was shaking, tears in her eyes.

"No," said Wesley. "Even without the wards, this is still the most defensible place. We'll find out how to restore the spells."

"Wesley?" called Cordelia from the office. She pointed at the phone in her hand. "Willow."

Wesley went into the office, followed by Angel. In a few minutes, all three returned to the lobby. Wesley approached Sandra.

"Willow said she and Tara ought to be able to restore most of the spells from where they are, though it'll take a few hours. Angel and Spike are still here, as well as Gunn. They should be able to handle anything that happens tonight. From what Dr. Banerjee said, we only need to keep you safe for the next twenty-four hours, which is when the White will have made their decision."

"You're not going to stay?" asked Sandra.

"No." Wesley's face was stony. "I've other matters to take care of." His gaze flicked to Rebecca, who was standing a few feet away, looking miserable. "Angel, call me if anything happens, or if you learn anything new. Rebecca, it's time to go." He turned and left.

Rebecca followed him, eyes downcast. As she reached the front doors, she turned back to face the cold stares aimed at her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and followed her uncle outside.

Not a word was said on the drive back to Wesley's apartment. Rebecca spared her uncle a few sidelong glances, and what she saw was not at all comforting. Her stomach roiled.

I've done it this time, she thought. I've really done it. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

They remained in silence until the door to Wesley's apartment clicked shut. Words overflowed from within Rebecca.

"I can explain, Uncle Wesley, I really can."

"So can I." Wesley's voice was clipped, cold. "You walked into a situation you knew little about but imagined yourself to be an expert on because of your book learning. You were arrogant enough to believe yourself to be the equal of those who had been in the field, and rather than consulting them, you did something on your own which could very well turn out to be disastrous."

"I was only trying to help, Uncle Wesley. I wasn't trying to go behind anyone's back, really, but everyone was gone when I finished the spell preparations. I was just trying to prove I could be useful."

"This isn't about you!" There was heat in Wesley's voice again. Rebecca flinched. "Rebecca, what we do here is save lives, save souls. This isn't some Watcher training scenario; this is real. Sandra and Sarah Anne are in very real danger. Their only hope is for us to keep them safe until an arcane organization reaches a decision, and it's a thin hope indeed. Your actions have created an even more dangerous situation."

"I'm sorry," Rebecca whispered, throat tight, nausea nearly overwhelming her. "I only wanted to help."

"Intention is seldom as important as results, and 'I'm sorry' helps nothing. You hid your actions from me; you've been dishonest with your parents about where you are. I don't believe you to be trustworthy, and we cannot afford that. I believe it's time for you to return to England, Rebecca."

No, please no, thought Rebecca frantically, but she was unable to speak. To her horror, she realized she was going to throw up. Not here, not now. Can't show him how weak I am . . .

It was too much. She ran to the bathroom, barely able to pull her hair back before vomiting into the toilet. Violent spasms shook her as she retched again and again. They seemed to pass, and she sagged, stomach clenching. Without warning, another spasm took her.

This time, someone else's hands pulled her hair back, gently rubbed her back as she gagged and coughed and finally was still. Those same hands lifted her to the counter and turned on cold water in the sink. As she rinsed her mouth, Rebecca heard the toilet flush. A washcloth appeared under the stream of water.

Wesley wrung out the washcloth and used it to wipe the sweat and tears away from his niece's face. When she was able to raise her eyes to his, she saw not contempt, not disgust, only concern. It nearly broke her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't do anything right."

"Rebecca, what is this? What's happening with you?"

She couldn't answer, and Wesley placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the living room, where he sat beside her on the couch.

She didn't even realize she was muttering, "Stupid, can't do anything right, you always say the wrong thing, stupid," under her breath until her uncle said, "Those aren't your words, are they?"

Rebecca couldn't answer. She didn't need to.

"Whose words are they?" questioned Wesley gently. "Your Watcher's?"

"No!" Rebecca looked at her uncle. "No, Madeleine was wonderful. She never said anything like that to me. Not like . . . not like Mother."

Wesley looked grave and a little angry. Embeth Martin-Pryce's temper was legendary in the Pryce clan, but very few would have thought it could be aimed at her own daughter. "Is that why you came here, then? To get away from the family?"

"Partially," Rebecca admitted. "The thing is, Uncle Wesley, while I was a Slayer-in-Waiting, I was a bit of a celebrity in our family. We haven't had many, you know, and no Slayers. Mother and Father would trot me out for parties, and if I felt like a bit of a display piece, it almost made up for my social clumsiness. And besides, I had Madeleine."

"I take it you and your Watcher were close, then."

"We were." Rebecca smiled softly. "Madeleine was always so encouraging. I had an aptitude for the physical skills required of a Slayer-in-Waiting. I'm a good fighter, Uncle Wesley, I really am, and while I was sparring with Madeleine, learning new skills, I felt like nothing else mattered. And we could talk, we'd talk about everything, it seemed. I practically lived with her for nearly five years, only going home for holidays and the occasional weekend."

Wesley's eyes were sympathetic. "But you had to leave her after you stopped being a Slayer-in-Waiting."

Rebecca nodded, throat tight with still-bitter pain. "I tried so hard not to cry when I was packing my things, but I started when I hugged her goodbye and didn't stop until the train pulled into London. I felt like I was leaving the only real parent I had."

She looked up at her uncle, warmed by the compassion in his eyes. "I was thirteen when Buffy Summers was Called. That wasn't so bad; I was very young, and although my parents were a bit outraged that an untrained American had been Chosen, they could blame the fact that I wasn't on my age. Very few Slayers are Called at thirteen.

"Then, when Kendra was Called, I was fourteen. Again, it was understandable; Kendra had been trained practically since infancy, and Sam Zabuto, her Watcher, was highly respected. There was much talk about how we finally had a 'proper' Slayer, one who would last far longer than that renegade, Buffy Summers.

"She didn't, of course. She was killed barely a year after being Chosen. I was fifteen, the prime age for being Called, but the honor went to Faith."

The bitterness in Rebecca's voice seemed to startle Wesley. "Surely your parents couldn't blame you for not being Chosen. No one knows the criteria the Powers That Be use to Call Slayers."

"But whatever they were, Faith met them . . . and I didn't." Rebecca looked down at her hands. She realized that at some point, her uncle must have slipped a tissue into her hands, and she was slowly shredding it. "When word came back to the Watchers about Faith's activities, I was home for a holiday. The question followed me wherever I went: What was so wrong with me that Faith would have been Chosen before me?"

Wesley's eyes grew wide. "Surely they didn't say that to you!"

"It wasn't spoken. It was never spoken." Rebecca grimaced. "You know how _we_ are. But it was there nonetheless. I was so grateful to go back to Madeleine after that visit. I threw myself into my training in the vain hope that somehow, I, too, would be Called. I tried not to think about the fact that that would require the death of another young woman.

"And another year passed, and another, and no new Slayer was Called, and my eighteenth birthday was looming. I knew that once I turned eighteen, I would be removed from the rolls of the Slayers-in-Waiting, and Madeleine would be reassigned. I realized I might never see her again, and the idea of going back to my family was . . ." She trailed off. "But then I heard about you, my uncle, once the family's golden boy, now the black sheep."

Wesley had to grin at that description. So did Rebecca as she went on. "I thought that if anyone might understand, it would be you. I wanted to prove I could do something right." She shook her head. "I guess I proved otherwise."

"And the vomiting?"

"It's just something I do." She shrugged. "Ever since I was a child, when I get upset, I throw up. Disgusting, I know." Rebecca looked at her uncle again. "I truly am sorry, Uncle Wesley. I'll have my ticket changed, go back to England."

Wesley looked pensive. "You know, Rebecca, Faith was a remarkably talented Slayer. She had extraordinary skills. It's just that . . . mistakes were made. Many of them by me. I, too, walked into a situation I knew nothing about, ignored the advice of my betters, and made choices that led to disaster. People lost their lives, and a young girl nearly lost her soul—until Angel saved it just in time."

He forced his niece to meet his eyes. "I said before we save souls here. I believe . . . I believe part of yours needs saving, Rebecca. Or at least your spirit. You should stay with us."

Tears filled Rebecca's eyes. "But—but the others," she choked out.

"Will understand. There's not one of us who hasn't needed a second chance at some point. It's all right, Rebecca. It will be all right."

There were no words to express Rebecca's feelings at that moment, so she just cried as her uncle held her.

***

Cordelia walked into the office to find Angel sitting at the desk, face dark.

"Brooding again?" she asked. "This is so not the time, Angel."

"I'm thinking," he said. "Something's wrong here."

"Yeah. Evil magi, big ugly demon dogs, and Wesley's niece."

Angel shook his head. "No, that's not it. Not entirely." He looked up at Cordelia. "Three demon dogs were sent after the one person in town who might be able to stop Andrew Burnham. Another was sent here, conveniently just after our protection spells were compromised. You remember Sandra's story the first time she came here?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Most of it, yeah. I've heard it multiple times."

"There was one detail she told us that she missed when she told her story to Thia: Andrew could find things in the house without looking for them."

A sudden, confusing revelation swept over Cordelia. "You mean . . ."

"He's got the farsight, like Thia. He's known where Sandra and Sarah Anne have been the whole time he's been chasing them."

Cordelia shook her head. "But if that's true, why hasn't he caught them?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted, looking even more grave. "But I have the feeling we need to find out—now."


	5. Things Come to a Head on Friday

Thanks and blame go to Leah Rosenthal for the Bloody Awful Poem

Thanks and blame go to Leah Rosenthal for the Bloody Awful Poem.

Mucho, major, chocolate-covered thanks go to Gyrus for the fight scenes. You rock, my buddy!

Chapter 5: Things Come to a Head on Friday

__

Dear Buffy,

It's weird. Yesterday, I was feeling pretty good. Today, I'm all down again. I remember I was like this after Mom died, too. I'd be okay, and then I wouldn't be okay, and then I'd be okay again. It was nice to have a good day, though. I mean, better than I've been having, anyway.

Actually, two things got me down yesterday. First, I talked to Sarah Anne. She has nightmares about her father and the monsters he sends looking for her and her mom. Demon dogs is what Wesley calls them. One burst into the Hyperion last night, and they're big, mean, and seriously ugly. Spike killed it. It's not fair. All Sarah wants is to be a normal kid, and she can't have even that.

I guess that's like you or me, huh? You just wanted to be normal, and you had to be the Slayer. I wanted to be normal, but I'm the Key. I hope we make things okay for Sarah Anne, though. Maybe she can have a normal life after all.

Second thing: Wesley's stupid niece did a spell that broke down the protection spells on the Hyperion. He was really mad at her, too. I wonder if she's going to have to go back to England.

I think I just heard Cordy screech. Bet Spike left another poem for her. This should be fun. Maybe it'll cheer me up.

***

The poem of the day was:

"Lilies are white

Fungus is black

I want you for romance

And not for a snack"

"SPIKE!" screamed Cordelia, coming shooting out of the kitchen.

The blond vampire was there in a moment. "You called, my dove?"

The pitch and volume of Cordelia's voice had attracted Angel and Gunn as well. They stood off to the side, wondering precisely what they should do.

Cordelia gestured violently toward the kitchen. "What part of your bleach-soaked brain came up with that . . . that . . ."

"Doggerel?" supplied Angel.

"Yes! You call that a poem?"

Spike thought about it. "It's got rhyme, it's got meter—by definition, yeah, it's a poem." He grinned. "Truth now: don't you find it just the least bit flattering?"

The Seer's eyes narrowed. "Flattering? Having bad Magnetic Poetry love notes dedicated to me by some walking corpse whose hair can't even remember what color it's supposed to be?"

"Come upstairs with me," Spike murmured, leaning ever closer, "and we'll both find out my natural hair color."

Gunn was thunderstruck. He started forward, only to be caught by Angel.

"You going to let him get away with saying things like that?" Gunn demanded of the elder vampire.

"Let Cordy handle it," said Angel.

Cordelia was, indeed, handling it. "So very clever. Tell me, just how many decades did it take you to think up that one?"

"Hey, I was the one who thought up that one originally, luv," said Spike.

Cordelia stepped closer to him. "Somehow, I don't doubt it. It's classy enough."

Spike stepped even closer, bringing them nose-to-nose. "Never pretended to be classy, sweetheart. Classy blokes mince words. Me, I say what I think, and I think that backside of yours could make me re-think my taste for skinny women."

"Really?" Cordelia's face took on an artful surprised look. "And to think I thought you'd gotten over that when you took up with Harmony and her mile-wide hips, Blondie Bear."

Spike grinned. "Kitten's got sharp teeth."

"Yes. And as opposed to you, I can actually use them."

The phone rang, and Cordelia went into the office to answer it. Spike, meanwhile, had the look of a man who'd just come out of an intense make-out session. He turned to Angel and Gunn. "Now, that's entertainment!"

Gunn gave him an icy stare. Angel rolled his eyes. "Sooner or later, that'll get you staked, Spike," said the elder vampire.

Spike flashed his canines. "Come on. Haven't you ever gotten into it with Miss Cordelia?"

"Actually, we try to avoid being on the sharp side of her tongue here," Angel told him, very dry.

"But why?" Spike looked positively dreamy. "She bites back so prettily. Tangle with her sometime. Even you'd enjoy it, poofy sire."

"Angel! It's Thia!" shouted Cordelia from within the office. Angel went into the office to pick up the call. Gunn gave Spike another withering look and followed.

"That was funny." Spike turned and saw Dawn standing in the shadow of the hallway, hugging Buffy's shawl around her.

"Mornin', Little Bit. You eat yet?"

Dawn shrugged. "Not that hungry this morning."

Spike was concerned. "You feeling all right?"

"I'm just . . ." Dawn scrunched up her face, thinking. "I'm just kinda down today. The usual, you know?" She walked further into the lobby to stand near Spike.

He didn't know what to say. Awkwardly, he reached out and set a hand on her shoulder. "It'll get better," he reassured her. "That's the good of being a human, you know; things never last forever with you."

Dawn's sad blue eyes looked into his own. "I guess so. I just wish . . . Spike, it can't ever go back to the way it was before, can it? I can't ever be the way I was before."

"No. That's another thing about you humans. You're always changing. Not like us demons, you know; we never change." Spike thought about that. "Well, with the exception of me and the poof, that is."

"Well, I'm glad you changed," Dawn said softly. "Maybe I'll have some cereal or something. I guess I am kinda hungry."

She walked toward the kitchen. For a moment, Spike just stood there, watching her. Dawn was small and slim, probably much like Buffy had been at her age. Her eyes were Joyce's, her face oval like Buffy's, and her mouth was pure Summers. With Buffy's wrap around her, she smelled of her older sister.

__

'Til the end of the world.

He'd given Buffy that pledge, and he'd meant it as an expression of his own love for Buffy, as well as genuine fondness for Dawn. Now, he realized that perhaps it was something more: a protection of Buffy's flesh and blood, her spirit, as wrapped up in Dawn, her sister and child both.

"Mind some company?" he called after Dawn.

She turned, offering him the smile that was so like Buffy's or Joyce's. Not as bright as usual, but an attempt. "Sure. I think they've got cocoa."

Spike grinned mischievously. "Not for long, they won't."

***

Wesley and Rebecca appeared just as Dawn emerged from the breakfast nook. Angel greeted them, then took Dawn aside.

"Dawn, we're going to have a meeting with everyone this morning, including Kate and Sandra," he said.

"And you want me on baby-sitting duty?"

"That's what I'm asking. We're going to gather in the lobby this time."

Dawn cocked her head. "So you want me to keep Sarah Anne out of the lobby?"

"Not exactly." Angel glanced over to where Sandra and Sarah Anne, freshly bathed, were coming down the stairs. "I want you to keep Sarah Anne in the office. I've got some art supplies in there, so she can draw or whatever."

Something was coming together in Dawn's mind. "You don't want her out of sight, do you?"

Angel hesitated a moment. "No."

"Things just got worse, didn't they?"

"Yes."

Dawn nodded, swallowing. "Okay."

"Thanks, Dawn." He smiled a little, affectionately touching her face. "You've been a big help this week."

She rolled her eyes. "In between going postal, you mean?"

Angel's smile grew a bit wider. "Everyone's got to go postal once in a while."

"Angel, Gunn, Cordelia, may I see you in the office for a moment?" requested Wesley. The three followed him into the office. Rebecca, Dawn noted, was sitting on the couch looking subdued and vulnerable. Spike started toward her. Wesley ducked back out of the office. "Say one word to her, Spike, and I'll drive a very dull stake through your heart." The office door shut after Wesley as he withdrew again. Spike shrugged and left the lobby.

Inside, Wesley faced his friends. "I realize that what Rebecca did was very ill-considered and, yes, dangerous. I have no excuse for her error save that she is, like I was, a victim of our family. What I'd like to ask is that she be given a second chance." He paused briefly. "Like me, much was expected of her. And like me, she could not live up to those expectations. Unlike me, it was none of her own fault that she failed to be what our family wished her to be. She came here in need of help. Our help. I'm asking you . . ." He trailed off. "I'm asking you to help me uncover the good young woman under the Pryce exterior."

There was a moment of silence. Cordelia looked a bit skeptical, Gunn looked open, and Angel looked at Wesley after consulting both of them with his eyes. "We'll help," the vampire said. "Actually, Wesley, she might not have done nearly as much damage as we were afraid she did. And believe it or not, that's not good news."

***

Twenty minutes later, the lobby was full. Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Rebecca Sandra, Kate, and even Fred and Spike were all present. Angel had roped Spike into attending. Almost literally, actually; there had been some mention of tying Spike to a chair if he refused to sit in, at the very least. The blond vampire was currently sulking on the fringe of the group, chewing on a toothpick.

Wesley stood, opening the meeting. "Angel has reached some conclusions that I believe may be vital in keeping Sandra and her daughter safe until the White make their decision and hopefully step in. Angel?"

Angel addressed the group. "Last night, I was thinking about why the demon dogs were sent after Dr. Banerjee, and why one would have been sent here. Sandra, when you told your story to Thia, you left out one detail that you'd told us, something you probably didn't think was important: Andrew could find things without looking for them. When I talked to Thia this morning, she said that's a dead giveaway that he has farsight, like her. According to Thia, it's easy to see things and almost as easy to see events, but harder to see people. You need to be communicating with them, as she was with us on the phone yesterday, or you have to have an intimate connection with them."

Sandra knew where this was headed. "And I'm Andrew's wife."

"Yes." Angel nodded. "More to the point, though, Sarah Anne is his daughter, and Thia says it's easiest to see one of your own blood."

"Waitasec—didn't those witches make this place invisible?" asked Gunn.

"They made it invisible to scrying," said Angel. "Farsight is different. You'll remember Thia could see us easily even with that shield in place. Furthermore, Willow and Tara tested it with a scrying spell last night, and it apparently never faltered. Incidentally, they were able to reinstate the spells they placed on the Hyperion within a few hours. Willow did warn us that if he's as strong a warlock as he appears to be, he'll most likely be able to break down enough of those spells to get in, but it'll take him time and energy to do so."

"I don't understand," said Kate. "If he's been able to see them all this time, why hasn't he made his move yet?"

"Sounds to me like he's driving them." Spike's voice startled everybody. "Hunting but not killing—he's either moving them someplace, or he just gets off on the fear."

"I'm with Spike on this one," Angel said. "I think he's driving them as well, and when I talked it over with Thia, she agreed. We think L.A. is right where he wants you and Sarah Anne, Sandra."

Sandra straightened. "Why L.A.?"

Angel paused a moment, framing his thoughts. "For the sake of argument, we're saying he's a Fire Mage. Their powers are strongest around large numbers of people. According to Thia, from what she could discover of the ritual, the mage who performs it wants his own powers to be at their absolute peak, as the ritual takes a lot of energy to perform. Now, any population center would probably be good enough, but L.A. has another attraction for any magic user."

"The Hellmouth," supplied Cordelia. She'd been in on discovering most of this with Angel.

"Exactly," Angel agreed. "To explain that, Sandra, the Hellmouth is a convergence of mystical energies that attracts demons and also amplifies magical forces. It's actually located about two hours north of here, in Sunnydale, but L.A. is close enough that the Hellmouth still affects it."

Wesley put it all together. "So he's got both sides of his magic use covered. He's got the population center to bring his magery to a peak, and the Hellmouth will augment witchcraft."

"I still don't understand why now," said Sandra. "Why didn't he just catch us early on?"

"That's something else I talked to Thia about," said Angel. "She said he could have, but he'd have expended energy keeping you both with him and alive. He wants you alive, Sandra, because the ritual requires the blood of the child's mother. If you become inconvenient, he can still kill you and take your blood, which is possibly why the demon dog was sent here last night. But he needs it relatively fresh, which is why he's wanted you alive until now."

"So he's driven her," concluded Wesley. "He's driven her to his chosen ground and is waiting for the last minute to strike. I'd say that will be within the next twenty-four hours. Given the attack on Dr. Banerjee last night, I would speculate that he was planning on making an attempt to take Sarah Anne, but when the attack failed, he decided to re-think his plan."

Sandra was shaking as she stood. "Then we should leave. Leave the city. Get as far away as we can . . ."

"No," said Wesley. "He would stop you, Sandra; he's very powerful here, and he knows where you are. He may have chosen the city, but you can stand your ground and fight him here, with people on your side."

"I can't!" cried Sandra. She seemed to catch herself and glanced nervously at the office before continuing. "I can't fight him. I couldn't back in Virginia; that's why I ran. Now you tell me he's more powerful than ever, and he's going to use Sarah Anne to get even stronger. How am I supposed to fight that? That cloak stopped him from seeing us before, so we'll just put it back on and get out of the city now, maybe run far enough that he can't catch us until it's too late." She swallowed back tears. "I won't let him hurt my baby. I'll die first, if that's what it takes."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Cordelia's voice. "That cloak's not going to do you much good anymore. Thia said it was made to confuse the farsight, but whoever's looking can adjust to it. Andrew's expecting you to use it, so it probably wouldn't hide you long enough to get out of the city. Besides—hello, he's the bad guy. Why should he be the one calling the shots? Hasn't he been playing his creepo game long enough? Thia said the best person to use the Water Sphere she's sending is someone who's got a connection with the mage it's being used against. This is your chance to tell him you're not letting him control you any longer."

Sandra swallowed visibly. In that moment, her vulnerability was laid bare: the years of control at the hands of her powerful husband, the difficulty of breaking free, and the strain of running, always hiding, always knowing he was hunting her. Angel glanced at Wesley briefly, and the question of whether this woman would be able to help herself, let alone anyone else, passed silently between them.

"What do you need me to do?" she finally asked, voice low and hoarse.

Wesley and Angel had discussed a plan in short form, and Wesley laid it out for the group. Bit by bit, it was refined. They only hoped they wouldn't have to use it.

And they knew it was a vain hope indeed.

The Hyperion was basically sealed, as much as they could make it. Even some of the ground-floor windows were boarded up. Each member of the team also kept a weapon nearby—Cordelia and Wesley, crossbows, Angel, a sword, Gunn, his personal axe, and Spike chose another battle-axe. Kate had a gun.

"Rebecca, what's your specialty?" asked Angel at one point.

The British girl had been very quiet and helpful all morning and seemed a little thrown by Angel's question. "Ah—I'm best with the quarterstaff, actually, but I can use almost anything else."

Angel bit his lip, looking thoughtful. He crossed over to the weapons cabinet, removed two quarterstaffs, tossed one to Rebecca, and gestured toward the ballroom with his head. "Come on. Let's see what you've got."

"You mean . . ?"

"You wanted to spar with me, didn't you?" Angel gave her a half-smile. "Show me what you can do."

Rebecca flushed and smiled, following the vampire to the ballroom. It was a magnificent place, octagonal in shape and with fantastical statues standing against the gold-and-maroon walls. The ex-Slayer-in-Waiting kicked off her shoes and took a position opposite Angel. They each held their staffs at one end to capitalize on the weapon's long reach.

Angel feinted high, toward Rebecca's face, then thrust at her abdomen, probing her defenses. She set his thrust aside and arced the tip of her staff down toward his knee. Angel stepped back only just in time to avoid the blow. He thrust his staff forward one-handed, to maximize his range, but Rebecca struck his weapon aside and swung her staff at Angel's exposed head. Angel quickly raised up the back end of his staff to block the blow. 

Angel and Rebecca's exchange of attacks and counters continued, growing faster. Their spar soon attracted Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn. They stood watching, amazed, as Rebecca transformed. Her movements were swift, graceful, and assured. Her face was set in concentration, but also betrayed eagerness for the challenge. With her eyes shining and her face flushed, she actually looked rather pretty. 

One of Angel's thrusts struck her side suddenly. Rebecca cried out and leaped back. Angel pursued and swept her off her feet. In a second, the tip of his staff was poised over her exposed throat. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"You hit me," she noted.

"This isn't just a spar, Rebecca," the vampire told her. "I need to know what you're capable of. I need to know that a little pain isn't going to stop you in the middle of a fight. Unless I know that, I can't trust you with my friends."

Her jaw set and her eyes hardened as she got to her feet. "Let's go again, then."

The ensuing fight was beautiful to watch, but also frightening. Rebecca was forced to take several more strikes from Angel's staff, and Cordelia winced, envisioning the bruises the other girl would have. But the British girl kept fighting, doing her best and occasionally returning the physical abuse Angel was dishing out. Occasionally, too, she would call a halt and request Angel teach her whatever trick he'd just used. He would, and she'd invariably catch on quickly.

Cordelia glanced over at Wesley. There was a worried frown between his eyes.

"You know, Wesley, if this is getting to you, you don't have to watch," the Seer said.

Wesley started at her voice. "It's not Rebecca I'm worried about. It's Angel."

"What's the problem?" asked Gunn. "He looks like he's doing okay. Not like she's gonna hurt him permanently."

Wesley gave Gunn a look and said, "I know Angel can take care of himself out there. What I'm worried about is . . . tell me, how has Angel seemed today? I mean his emotional state."

"Looks to me like he's doing better," said Cordelia.

"That's just it." The frown between Wesley's eyes deepened. "He seems to be doing fine."

"Okay, now I'm not getting you," said Gunn. "He's not doing fine, you're worried. He's doing fine, you're worried."

"Inconsistent much?" asked Cordelia. All three took a moment to wince as Rebecca took another hard fall.

"Consistency is the defense of small minds," opined Wesley. "Angel has been throwing himself into this case, into taking care of Dawn, even into keeping Spike under control. I'm concerned that he may be avoiding his emotions."

"Isn't that pretty much business as usual for the king of repression?" asked Cordelia.

"It is," acknowledged Wesley. "Which is what worries me."

Gunn and Cordelia exchanged a look behind Wesley's back.

Angel and Rebecca came jogging back to the entrance. "That was wonderful!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Did you see, Uncle Wesley?" She was positively glowing.

"Quite excellent, if I do say so," agreed Wesley. "What's your opinion, Angel?"

"She's very good," said Angel. "Your Watcher really knew her job, didn't she?"

Rebecca nodded warmly. "Madeleine taught me all I know."

"She had good material to work with," returned Angel. "You can't teach great coordination. I think you're a definite asset here."

Rebecca's glow went up a few lumens. She and Wesley traded a warm smile. The five moved back into the lobby, discussing plans. Abruptly, Wesley broke away, examining several objects on and around the coffee table.

"Spike!" he yelled. Several minutes went by with no sign of the blond vampire. Angel finally went to the kitchen and hauled Spike out bodily.

"What's the bleedin' idea?" Spike demanded.

Wesley held up a well-chewed toothpick. "Kindly cease leaving piles of these around. I've been noticing them for two days, but realized you're the culprit only this morning when I saw you chewing on one."

Spike looked defiant. "Let me smoke, then."

"This is our workplace," Wesley explained patiently. "We have the right to ask that it not reek of cigarette smoke or have used toothpicks scattered about."

"You seem awfully concerned about what I put in my mouth," Spike sneered. "Do you have an oral fixation? Did your mother not breastfeed you?" The next sound out of his mouth was a gasp of pain as Angel's hand clamped over the back of the blond vampire's neck.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, or I'll rip it out," growled Angel.

Wesley merely gave Spike a condescending look. "A vampire who can't bite shouldn't throw stones about oral fixations."

Spike wriggled free of Angel's grasp, looking irritated. "You're entirely too fond of that maneuver, you know that?"

"Spike?" The vampires' eyes met. "Make yourself useful. Now." Spike turned, uttering sulfurous oaths under his breath. "And stop swearing!" Throwing Angel the British bird, Spike went off to help fortify the building. "Walking attitude problem," muttered Angel. "Did you know he short-sheeted my bed last night? Not to mention I had to borrow Cordy's mousse this morning because my hair gel mysteriously disappeared."

Wesley rolled his eyes and shook his head at the younger vampire's antics, then drew Rebecca away for further instructions. Angel looked at Gunn, who remained.

"Could we talk a minute?" Angel asked the young man, sounding hesitant. Talking wasn't something the two did a great deal of—at least, not together.

"Sure," Gunn replied, sounding equally hesitant.

Angel drew in a breath, gathered his thoughts, then spoke. "If I'm out of line asking this, just tell me, but I was wondering . . . I was wondering if you'd mind talking to Dawn. You and she both lost sisters you were very close to, and I thought that maybe she'd feel like you'd understand more of what she's going through. You don't have to, of course, but . . ." He trailed off.

Gunn looked at the floor, pain shadowing his features. "You're not out of line, but I'm not sure talking to me would do Dawn any good. She—she wasn't the one that killed her sister."

"Gunn, there was no way you could've predicted those vampires would attack during the day. You're not responsible for Alonna's death."

"Angel, I was the one who killed her," Gunn stated. "I staked her, remember?"

Angel blinked. "You staked a vampire, Gunn. Alonna was already dead."

"Was she?" The bitterness in the young man's voice took Angel by surprise. "She knew me, man. She remembered things from when we were little, she talked the same, she said . . . she said she wanted us to be together. I don't know if she'd even killed anyone."

"I had no idea you felt this way." Angel's voice was soft. "To answer your last question first, yes, she had killed. Vampires are feral when they first awake. She would hardly have been coherent if she hadn't fed. As for the rest—Gunn, she still looked like Alonna, she still had the same memories, even the same mind to some extent, but the part of her you loved, her soul, was gone. All that was left was a shell housing a demon like the kind you saw me turn into in Pylea."

"She didn't have a chance." Gunn's eyes were on the floor, dark with pain. "I never even tried to save her."

"You couldn't have."

"You got saved. Even Bleach Boy's doing the hero thing. Why not Alonna?" He raised his eyes to Angel. "Maybe she could've had a chance, and I took that away from her."

Angel's eyes had also gone dark. "I had no idea," he repeated. "What you've got here are two exceptional cases, Gunn. I was given a soul, and believe me when I say I'd wish my fate on no one. Spike got a chip implanted in his brain that stifles his violent impulses, and he fell in love with someone truly exceptional. All that and he still worries me. You can't generalize to all vampires from what's happened to the two of us."

"I just . . ." Gunn swallowed. "I just keep hearing her saying she wanted us to be together again. If it wasn't Alonna, why did she still know me?"

Angel didn't say anything, just went to the office. After a moment, he returned with his sketchpad. He flipped to a page, looked at it almost reverently, then gave it to Gunn. The picture was of a young girl with dark hair and a sweet, sweet smile.

"I had a little sister, too," Angel said. "Her name was Kathy. She was sweet, bright, beautiful—actually, a lot like Dawn. A whole lot like Dawn." He hesitated. "Only, she never got to be as old as Dawn is right now. When I was turned, I went back to my family home and killed everyone there. Including Kathy."

Gunn looked from the picture to Angel, wide-eyed. "I didn't know."

"Not many people do. Cordy and Wesley know, and now you do." Angel bit his lip. "When vampires are turned, they often go back to their homes and either kill or turn their family members. We do it because our families encompass all we were as humans. We either try to sever those ties or bring them with us into our new world. Neither way works. You can never be rid of your family, no matter how long you live, with or without a soul, but without a soul, you can never have that bond the way it was before." Angel looked at the picture. "I loved Kathy more than anything while I was human, but you can't know how grateful I am that I only killed her and didn't turn her. In a world of regrets, that, at least, is one I don't have."

Something passed between the two, then, a complicated strand of emotions: pain, understanding, respect, deep grief. After a moment, Gunn spoke. "Listen, I can't promise anything, but I'll think about talking to Dawn. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gunn."

Gunn handed back the sketchpad. "Thank you. You didn't have to tell me all that, but . . ." Gunn ducked his head a bit. "It answers a lot of questions that've been bothering me."

Angel nodded. "Anytime."

Fred walked back in and straight to Gunn. She betrayed no anxiety at the turn of events, just simple acceptance. There was something endearing about the girl, Angel decided. Something innocent, in spite of all she'd been through in Pylea.

"I was just noticing in the back, behind the kitchen, there's a door," she said. "That really big door, that one that goes up and down. You know that one? Well, it's not too strong; it rattled something terrible when I knocked on it, and I was just thinking that if I was a monster, I could knock it down real easy. We're trying to keep monsters out, and this place is no cave, you know, there are too many places to get in and out, and monsters will find them. Monsters always find them."

"The loading zone behind the kitchen," Angel realized. "That door is pretty weak. Want to help me reinforce it, Gunn?"

"Sure." The two started to move off, but Fred's sudden cry of surprise stopped them in their tracks.

The young woman was staring at empty space, her eyes slowly tracking from the stairwell toward the lobby doors. Suddenly, she giggled and walked forward. Still giggling, she reached out and pulled the hood back from Sandra's face.

It wasn't like Sandra and Sarah Anne just appeared; it was like they'd been there the entire time and Angel and Gunn simply hadn't noticed them. The Fey cloak was still encouraging the men to ignore the fact that Sarah Anne was underneath it, but Sandra was clearly noticeable. And looking both terrified and guilty.

"That's funny," giggled Fred.

Angel and Gunn exchanged a glance. "I'll get Wes," volunteered Gunn, and he headed off to find their boss.

Angel sighed and walked over to Sandra. "Sandra, do I need to ask what you're doing?"

"Andrew's coming," whispered the woman. "He's coming. I can't just stay here."

Sarah Anne peeped out from beneath the cloak. " 'Bye," she said.

Angel touched the little girl's cheek but held her mother's gaze. He could hear Sandra's heart beating, smell her fear, sense her weariness. She was so desperate . . .

Wesley arrived in the lobby, flanked by Gunn and Kate and followed by Rebecca. He either sized up the situation quickly or had been briefed by Gunn, because his first words were, "Sandra, it will do you no good to run."

"But he's coming," she protested, her voice choked.

"Yes, he's coming," Wesley acknowledged. "He will come, you know, whether you're here or elsewhere. The only difference is that while you're here, you have allies, people to help and support you. People to fight for you. You don't have to go through this alone."

Sandra was weeping openly by now. "It's been—so long."

"Mama, don't cry," pleaded Sarah Anne. Sandra knelt and drew her daughter into her arms. Kate knelt beside the two of them and put an arm around Sandra's shoulders.

"Wesley's right, Sandra," the ex-cop said. "You need to trust them and work with them. This can all be over soon."

At that moment, a Fed-Ex courier appeared at the front doors. Wesley went and signed for the package, then came back to Sandra. "It's from Thia," he said. "Probably the Water Sphere. Would you like to see it?"

Sandra swallowed the rest of her tears and nodded. Wesley opened the box and produced from within it a crystal sphere about the size of a large grapefruit. The outside was rippled and reflected light oddly, in ways that the human eye couldn't quite understand. The inside was hollow and filled most of the way with water. Sandra reached out to it.

"Careful, it's heavy," Wesley warned as he handed it over.

She took it, examining it from every angle. "It's beautiful." As she continued to examine it, the Sphere began to shimmer from the inside out. Sarah Anne reached out to touch it. Sandra sought out Wesley's eyes. "Is it safe?"

"It should be perfectly safe for her to touch, yes. You should look at Thia's instructions for using it." He looked at her very seriously. "Do you think you can do this?"

Sandra was silent for a long time, letting Sarah Anne examine the crystal. The mother looked at Kate, finally, and the former cop nodded.

"I think I can. I think I have to," Sandra said.

Wesley nodded once. "Good. Good. I'll show you what to do, then."

***

The day ticked by agonizingly slowly. Sarah Anne, in particular, was fretful, sensing the tension among the adults. Dawn settled her on the couch and read Harold and the Purple Crayon to her, trying to get the small girl to nap.

"I could use a crayon like that," commented Spike, who'd been reading over Dawn's shoulder.

"Everyone could use a crayon like that," said Dawn.

Sandra exited the office, where she'd been talking with Thia on the phone. Sarah Anne called out to her. "Mama, can I look at your pictures again?"

"Of course, honey-bunny," said Sandra. "But you need to promise me you'll take a nap once we've looked at them."

The child sighed. "Okay."

A few minutes later, Sandra brought down a sizable portfolio. She sat down between Sarah Anne and Dawn and opened it. Inside were what looked like modeling shots.

"Were you a model?" asked Dawn.

"I did do some modeling in high school and college," Sandra confirmed. "This, though, is my pageant portfolio." She flipped past the first pages to a picture of herself at about Dawn's age, wearing a tiara and a sash that read, "Miss Junior Charleston." "I was in beauty pageants from the time I was thirteen all the way through college. It wasn't ever really important to me—and believe me, some of the girls made it their life's work, winning pageants—but it brought in some nice money from the prizes, and I thought it was fun. Besides, I got to keep the crowns."

Dawn was examining some pictures of Sandra at seventeen or eighteen. "Nice hair."

Sandra laughed, actually sounding relaxed for once. "It was the South, and it was just after the eighties. Big hair was a necessity. I swear, the winner of that particular pageant had hair that showed up on radar. But she was the nicest girl. We kept in touch until . . . until this year."

It took a moment, but Sandra managed to brush away the darkness threatening to settle over her mood again. She flipped through the pages. Dawn saw Sandra in with the other contestants, sometimes in carefully-planned shots, sometimes caught candidly, and sometimes mugging for the camera with the other girls. Sandra told her little anecdotes as they went along, pointing out girls who she'd kept in touch with, who'd won particular events, who were the biggest queens, and one particular contestant who'd turned out to be a man in drag.

"I still keep in touch with him, too," Sandra said with a laugh. "He's got a great sense of humor, and his taste in clothes is absolutely impeccable."

"You miss all this, don't you?" asked Dawn.

Sandra nodded. "Terribly. Terribly."

***

As evening fell, the mood grew even more tense, anticipating, hoping, dreading. Dinner was picked over by most, with the notable exception of Fred. If she sensed the pressure, it didn't deter her from devouring her food with her usual enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Everybody jumped. Wesley was the one who picked it up. "Angel Investigations. How can we help you? Oh, hello, Dr. Banerjee." Everyone's heads turned. "No, we've been waiting to hear from you." Pause. "They have? May I ask . . ." He listened, holding his breath. Kate took Sandra's hand, which was white at the knuckles.

And then Wesley breathed a long sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." He covered the receiver with one hand and looked at Sandra. "The White have found sufficient evidence to form a Tribunal and take over protecting you and Sarah Anne. They've got their seers looking for Andrew right now."

Quiet jubilation filled the room. Sandra sagged, drained, as Dawn hopped up and went over to give her a congratulatory hug.

Wesley was still on the phone. "Do you need anything else from us?" He looked surprised at what she said next. "No, no that wouldn't be a problem. Angel and I can come get you right away, as a matter of fact. Considering that there are demon dogs about who know who you are, I believe it would be best, in fact. We'll be there in twenty minutes, traffic permitting." Pause. "No, thank you, Dr. Banerjee. Thank you very much." He hung up.

Angel already had his coat on. "I'm ready to go."

Sandra stood, wiping away more tears, and approached Wesley. "Thank you so much, Wesley. It's all going to be over now, isn't it?"

The Englishman looked happy, but sober. "I certainly hope so. Whatever happens with the Tribunal, at least he won't be able to perform the ritual. Sarah Anne will be safe."

"That's all I want." The woman impulsively hugged Wesley. He blushed slightly as he returned her embrace, then turned to the rest of the group.

"We shouldn't let our guard down. Angel and I will go pick up Dr. Banerjee. Hopefully, we shan't be gone more than forty-five minutes. Call us if anything unusual happens." He and Angel strode out of the hotel.

The mood inside was much lighter. Cordelia broke out the ice cream, and they all settled down for a dessert filled with giddy laughter. Sarah Anne started talking about her birthday again, and what a wonderful party she was going to have. Sandra's forehead crinkled unhappily. Dawn decided it was the perfect time to bring up her idea.

"Sandra," the teen said, coming around to the mother's side of the table. "I have an idea. It's a little crazy, but . . ."

She was cut off as Cordelia grabbed her head with a cry and fell to the floor.

"Vision!" shouted Gunn, jumping to her side. "Cordy? What do you see?"

Cordelia's eyes were wide, terrified, as images slammed through her brain. She made no sound at all, which was somehow even more frightening. Then she gasped and shuddered as the vision released her.

Gunn helped her into a sitting position. "Cordy, what was it?"

She blinked, looked at Gunn, looked at Sandra, and then suddenly jumped to her feet and ran out of the dining room. Confused and scared, the others followed.

"Spike!" she shouted. "Spike, get down here! Gunn, give me a phone. Now."

Gunn handed over his own cell phone. "What's happening?"

Cordelia looked at him, wide-eyed. "He's coming."

It took a second for that to sink in. "Andrew?" Sandra asked.

Cordelia nodded a confirmation as she dialed. "Wesley? Vision. Andrew's coming. Okay." She thumbed off the phone. "They're at UCLA talking to Dr. Banerjee. They're headed back, but they're gonna be too late."

***

In Dr. Zanita Banerjee's office, Wesley clicked off his phone. "Andrew's coming to the Hyperion."

"We've gotta go back," said Angel.

"Dr. Banerjee?" Wesley looked at her. She'd been gathering her things, preparing to leave work for the day when the call had come in.

"Go on," she said. "I will summon the White. Go do your best to protect your friends. If Andrew truly is there, you will lead us right to him—our seers have been unable to locate him. When we find him, the Tribunal will begin."

Wesley and Angel didn't need to be told twice. They left the office, jumped into Angel's car, and almost immediately began breaking traffic laws.

***

"Where's Spike?" demanded Cordelia.

"Right here, luv," said Spike, who literally had just dropped into the lobby. "Knew you'd be screamin' for me sooner or later."

"Not the time for inappropriate comments of a sexual nature, Spike. We've got a crisis situation. Sandra, where's that cloak?"

Sandra had draped it over the couch. It was trying to look like the upholstery, but wasn't hiding itself as effectively as it hid people. Sandra fetched it, shaking again. Dawn, knowing her part, took it from her.

Cordelia turned to Spike. "Spike, get the non-combatants out of the way. Fred? You're going with him, Dawn, and Sarah Anne. You guys go down to the sub-basement and wait until the last possible second to go down through the sewer entrance.

"Why not just go now?" asked Dawn.

"Because Andrew's tracking Sarah Anne," explained Cordelia. "We need to draw him into the hotel. Spike, when I yell, take them someplace safe."

"Sewers?" asked Gunn. "You sure, Cordy?"

The Seer nodded. "Yeah. They're not going to be able to get out aboveground. Trust me on this. Sandra, last chance—you sure you can do this? If not, go with Spike now or forever hold your peace."

Sandra set her jaw, though she still looked frightened. "I have to do this. I will face him."

Spike was looking crestfallen. "Why do I get baby-sitting duty?"

"Because Andrew's human," said Cordelia. "He may be a mage, and he may be a bastard, but he's still human, and you can't touch him. You're still the best one to protect Dawn and Sarah Anne, though, so don't let us down. If they get hurt . . ."

"They get hurt, it means I'm already dust," stated Spike. No one who saw his face at that moment could doubt it.

Dawn draped the cloak about her shoulders but didn't put up the hood. She went over to Sarah Anne. "Sarah? We need to go now."

"No!" The little girl yanked herself away and ran to Sandra. "Mama?"

Sandra knelt down, forcing herself to smile. "It's okay, sweetheart. Go with Miss Dawn. It'll be okay, I promise. Mama will catch up to you soon. Just remember: this is one of those times Mama talked to you about, when you need to be real quiet and fast. Okay?" She kissed her daughter's forehead. "I love you, baby."

Sarah Anne took Dawn's hand reluctantly, but allowed herself to be led toward the basement door. Spike had already grabbed his coat and an axe. "Come along, my little hors d'oeuvres," he said, waving Dawn, Sarah Anne, and Fred to follow him.

"I'll tell Angel you said that," called Cordelia after him.

"Great. It'll give you something to live for," shot back Spike. "That and our torrid love affair, of course."

"Don't you wish!" She watched as they disappeared down the basement stairs. "Good luck," she murmured.

In the lobby, the weapons were waiting. Rebecca was carrying a quarterstaff and had tucked a few throwing knives into her belt. She'd chucked her overshirt and tied her hair back, stripping for action. Gunn hefted his axe. Cordelia checked her crossbow. Kate quietly cocked her gun. Sandra clutched Thia's Water Sphere.

Outside, a demon dog howled. First one, then several, then a wild pack. Their howls came from every side of the building, an eerie, evil sound that sent chills down the spine.

"They're here," whispered Sandra.

Cordelia had been around magic long enough to recognize the feel of it. An almost electrical charge crackled through the air. Then, suddenly, there was a reverberating _snap_, as if something had broken. It wasn't a sound, exactly, just a feeling, and Cordelia knew one of the wards had just fallen.

It happened again. Then again. The charge in the air increased, and suddenly, there was banging and scratching at every point of entrance to the hotel. Where the wards had failed, though, the physical reinforcements held firm.

Then there was a final snap. The front doors rattled and shook. Cordelia hefted her crossbow.

And the doors flew open.

"Now, Spike!" shouted Cordelia.

Down in the sub-basement, the vampire's sharp hearing just picked up on Cordelia's cry. Spike looked over one shoulder with regret, but yanked up the sewer grate and jumped down. Dawn was lowered to him by Fred, and Sarah Anne came right after. Fred herself came last, carefully dragging the grate back into place as Spike helped her down.

"This way," said the vampire, and the small group was off. As they began to move, Dawn pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and drew Sarah Anne close, covering her in invisibility.

Up above, Andrew Burnham walked casually into the lobby. He was flanked by demon dogs, but except for that detail, he looked like a businessman coming to a meeting. His hair was dark and impeccably groomed, his suit neat, pressed, and very expensive, and his handsome face betrayed no particular emotion. As he looked at the people in the lobby, though, they realized his eyes were black.

The dogs started to surge forward, but a gesture from Andrew held them back. "Sandra," said the dark mage. "It's been awhile."

Sandra was shaking, her teeth clamped shut. Cordelia looked at her.

"Looks to me like it hasn't been nearly long enough," the Seer said.

Andrew looked amused. "You have no idea, girl. Sandra, why put yourself through this? I don't want you to be hurt, you know. All I ever wanted was to take care of you. Come back to me now, my love, and you'll see how good I can make things for you."

"By killing my baby?" Sandra burst out. "I'll die first."

Andrew shook his head. "You're thinking in the short-term, Sandra. That was always your problem. If I go through with this ritual, which I assume you've figured out by the way you're talking, I'll be the most powerful mage of my generation, possibly of all time. Can you imagine the things I'll be able to do? You had a list of things you'd like to see happen in your lifetime, remember? You showed it to me the day we got engaged. I can make all those things happen, love. My power could feed the hungry, stop crime, stop wars. All of that for the price of one life. Are you so selfish?"

Before Cordelia could respond with an appropriately scathing comment, Sandra's voice cut in, low and deadly. "When the price is Sarah Anne's life, it is too damn high. And the fact that you don't seem to think so makes me wonder why on Earth I ever loved you in the first place. I'll spit in your face sooner than I'll share your bed again. Do you hear me? I. Want. A. Divorce!" She held the Water Sphere high, and it blazed with her indignation. "Protect!"

A rippling shield spread out in front of them. Andrew's face grew stony. He kenned a knife into one hand and threw it as if testing the shield. The knife bounced harmlessly away.

"So short-sighted, Sandra," the dark mage sighed. "That was always your problem. But not mine." His eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he opened them, looking almost amused. "You've covered her with the Fey cloak. Nice touch. I can't find her with my concentration divided. The hounds, fortunately, use their noses rather than their eyes." He waved again, and five of the demon dogs ran forward.

Cordelia felt herself shoved downward. Kate was almost directly behind her, and the gun roared. Two of the dogs dropped in their tracks. Cordelia took out another with her crossbow. The fourth dropped with a throwing knife through its eye, and Kate's gun took out the last one. Then the gun rang out twice more as Kate aimed directly at the dark mage.

The bullets were stopped by a shield Andrew had thrown up. He no longer looked amused. Stepping to one side, he allowed more of the demon dogs through. One more fell to the gun and another to a throwing knife, but they were coming through too fast. Gunn stepped out, axe at the ready. Cordelia took another shot and hit a demon dog in the shoulder. It howled in pain and rage and came straight for her. As she stood, she stumbled.

Uh-oh, thought the Seer. What Wesley had said about the dogs being charmed against magery flitted through her mind as the creature ran through the shield.

The dog lunged for Cordelia. Just as its jaws gaped open to seize her, the creature was struck hard from the side and knocked away. Rebecca had made a flying tackle, and now she quickly wrestled her legs around the monster's neck. She jerked hard, twisting her entire body to the side, and the hound fell to the floor, neck broken. Rebecca leaped back to her feet. 

"Are you all right?" the British girl demanded. Cordelia nodded numbly. Rebecca turned, snatching up her quarterstaff. She thrust hard into an attacking dog's face, forcing the beast to stop its charge, then brought the staff down on its head in a smashing overhead blow. The dog stayed down. 

Rebecca ran to join Gunn, who was barely keeping a small group of dogs at bay with broad sweeps of his axe. The two began to fight as a team, Rebecca knocking dogs down and Gunn finishing them off with his axe.

"He's doing something!" cried Sandra. The shield she'd put in place was rippling, buckling.

"Do something back!" shouted Cordelia, beating off a demon dog with Kate's help.

"Push him!" commanded Sandra.

Andrew stumbled back suddenly. Rebecca seized the moment, grabbing a throwing knife and casting it smoothly at the dark mage. He managed to push it aside enough that it didn't go through his throat, which Rebecca had aimed for, but slashed his arm instead.

His eyes blackened again, and he snarled in rage. Uttering a spell in a guttural language, he made a throwing motion. A force smashed through the mage shield. The whole team was thrown off their feet, but it was Rebecca who caught the brunt of it in her chest. She fell to the ground, gasping for air.

The remaining demon dogs, six in all, swarmed around the battlefield, running toward the sewer entrance as Andrew Burnham gloated.

Then the lobby doors flew open behind him. Angel and Wesley burst in. Their eyes took in the whole scene as Andrew turned to face them. Wesley's eyes found his niece.

"Rebecca!"

***

In the sewers beneath Los Angeles, Spike led his small cadre toward what he hoped would be safety. He was slightly annoyed by the fact that he had to keep asking Fred where Dawn and Sarah Anne were until Dawn very sensibly suggested that Spike take the lead and have Fred bring up the rear, behind the two young girls. Although the vampire had worried that Fred might not understand what he was trying to get across, the young woman had instantly obeyed his order. They were traveling single file now. Spike squelched the urge to quack as he walked.

All sarcastic thoughts flew out of his head in the next moment. He pulled up short, vampiric senses reaching out.

"What is it?" whispered Dawn from underneath the cloak.

"You two niblets better get down," Spike muttered. "That alcove over there will do nicely. Hide, and don't make a sound. We're bein' hunted."

He heard the subtle sound of Dawn and Sarah Anne moving where he'd directed them. The five-year-old had, surprisingly enough, not talked at all. Spike decided she must be used to moving quickly and quietly by now.

Demon dogs move quickly, but not quietly. Their howls could be heard clearly by all now.

"Monsters!" hissed Fred. She melted into the shadows as effectively as any vampire.

Spike did not. He stood, axe in hand, ready to fight. The first hound wheeled around the corner.

"Hello, doggy," growled Spike, and he swung into action. The first one lost its head as quickly as it had appeared. Five more were charging Spike even as the first one fell. Another broad sweep of the axe killed a second and wounded a third.

The remaining three lunged at the vampire. He kicked one in the chest, but the other two took him to the ground. One, he managed to wound with his axe. The other, however, latched onto his leg. Spike roared in pain. The one he had kicked was on its feet again and headed for his throat. The wounded ones, too, were struggling to their feet.

Another sound reached his ears: Sarah Anne's frightened cries.

__

On the tower, Dawn looked at him, her eyes pleading.

He struck aside a demon dog with his arm. Then he noticed one of the others sniffing the air, looking off toward where the girls were hidden.

__

Spike lay crushed on the ground, aware only of pain and a terrible sense of failure.

Dawn's voice broke through. "It's okay, Sarah," the teen reassured Sarah Anne. "Spike will protect us. We'll be okay."

__

I won't let her down. Not again.

A red haze covered Spike's vision. He fixed the image of Dawn's eyes, wide and hopeless as he was thrown from the tower, into his mind, and a fire grew within him.

A good-sized rock flew out of nowhere and beaned the demon dog biting Spike's leg between the eyes. It fell. Spike was on his feet in an instant, killing one that had been lunging for his throat, then finishing off one of the wounded ones. The final demon dog, he discovered, had had its head smashed with a brick. Spike made certain they were all dead.

Fred stepped out of the shadows, another rock in her hands. "You gotta hit them right between the eyes," she explained. "Monsters, they're tough. You gotta make sure you hit them just right."

"I think I like you, girl," the vampire said. "Now, where are the niblets?"

"Sparkly girl's over there," said Fred, pointing to the alcove Spike had directed the girls to.

"Think we can probably lose the cloak now," Spike decided. "Wimpy-Spice said it'd only be good for about fifteen minutes, and it's been about that."

Dawn pulled the cloak away from herself and Sarah Anne, then folded it over her arm. She looked at the wreckage of the demon dogs, then back at Spike.

"Um, Spike? Your axe," she said.

"What about it, Little Bit?"

"You might want to wipe the blood off."

"Why?"

Dawn pointed at Sarah Anne, who was looking petrified. Spike shrugged, wiped the axe on the pelt of one of the demon dogs while Dawn attempted to shield the little girl from the sight, then began walking again.

"Where are we going?" asked Dawn.

"Think I know of a place where we might be safe," said the vampire, and the small group moved on.

***

Wesley's eyes blazed as he turned them from his niece's prone, gasping form to the man who had attacked her. For a moment, they just stared each other down.

Angel attempted to rush Andrew, but was stopped by an invisible wall. Andrew looked at Wesley and began to intone a spell.

He was interrupted by Gunn yelling, "Wesley!" The young man pitched a crystal orb at the ex-Watcher.

Andrew watched it arc through the air and made a grasping motion at it. Whatever he'd tried to do made no impact on the orb's course, however, and a worried frown creased the dark mage's forehead as Wesley caught it.

Holding the power-binding Orb of Ikonos at arm's length, Wesley spoke several words in Ancient Greek. The full force of his anger was behind them. The Orb blazed to life, and the spell hit Andrew with enough force to knock him off his feet. The wall holding Angel back disappeared, and the vampire charged in, pulling the mage up by his collar.

"Not so tough without your power, are you?" snarled the vampire.

"You've bound my magery," the mage retorted. "Not my witchcraft." He set a hand on Angel's chest. "_Ignis incente_!"

Fire blazed out from underneath Andrew's hand and Angel screamed, letting go and leaping back. He fell to the floor, trying to smother the flames, but the witch-fire refused to go out.

"No!" shouted Sandra. She held the Water Sphere in front of her. "Protect Angel!"

The Sphere unexpectedly flew out of her hands and straight to Angel. It hit him, cracking open like an egg, and the water inside spread out over Angel's form. The witch-fire was quenched. Angel stood, surrounded by a watery blue nimbus, in full game face.

Andrew sensed he was in trouble. He held up a hand and started a new spell, but Angel grabbed and head-butted him before he had a chance to complete it. A right hook knocked the mage a few feet away. Andrew managed to snarl another spell, though, and something like white lightning arced toward the vampire. It bounced harmlessly off the nimbus.

"Anything else in your bag of tricks?" asked Angel. "Because I gotta tell you—I'm not impressed." He hauled Andrew up again, pulled back one fist, and prepared to put the dark mage's lights out.

The blow never fell. Something like wind blew through the Hyperion. It locked everyone where they were, and Angel felt himself gently lifted and moved away from Andrew, then set back on the floor.

The doors to the lobby opened one more time, admitting two lines of people. There were around twenty in all, men and women of every race, each wearing a white tunic. They strode in, forming a circle around Andrew. He was suspended in mid-air, unable to move. Each member of the circle lifted his or her hands to touch the hands of the people on either side.

"The Tribunal begins," they chorused.

The White had arrived.

***

Lorne liked to think he was a reasonable man—well, demon—but this remodeling was enough to try the patience of a saint. Had Caritas not been warded so well against violence, he was certain he would long since have committed bloody murder against his interior decorator, Gunther. The man seemed to have no idea what the ambiance of a demon karaoke bar was supposed to be. And then there was Luis, putting out a steady stream of complaints about the new design of the bar. Lorne swore that if the man wasn't such a master mixologist, he'd have canned him long ago.

And now he had one of his employees coming to him with yet another crisis. "Somebody's at the sewer door," said the Irpa demon (not very good in a fight, but the best accountants you'll find this side of Hell, and Lorne desperately needed someone to balance his books). "They're demanding entrance and really being very rude about it."

The Host shook his head. What else could go wrong?

Caritas had been built to be friendly to the denizens of the underground world. Some of those creatures didn't like to be on the surface for any reason. Thus, Lorne had installed a door leading directly in from the sewers, complete with a small airlock to keep out the worst of the sewer smells. As he approached that door now, he heard a highly irritated voice coming from behind it, directed at the Terl demon standing guard beside it.

"Listen to me, you stupid Terl," the voice was saying. "I'll explain this very slowly: if you don't let me in, I'm going to rip your horn right out of your forehead, then stuff it down your gullet until you're wearing it as a tail. Do you understand?"

Lorne approached the door. "Who's threatening my bouncer?"

"It's Spike, you dandy. I need to be let in."

"Sorry, sweetie, but we're closed for renovations," replied Lorne. "Our grand re-opening is in three weeks, Powers That Be willing."

"I bloody well know you're closed," Spike retorted. "That's why I'm here. I've got a few little humans who need protecting, and your bar's supposed to be warded and all that rot."

"Humans? That need protecting?" This wasn't computing.

"A couple of sweet little girls, plus another young lady. We've got some nasties after us, and I've a bum leg. Can we please come in?"

This was really puzzling Lorne. "Okay, you're Spike? As in Bloody, comma, William the?"

"How many Spikes do you know?"

"One in L.A., two in 'Frisco. If you're the Spike I'm thinking you are from the accent, why aren't you eating said sweet little girls?"

There was an impatient sigh from outside. "Remember how last time I was here, you told me never to go back to Sunnydale? I ignored your advice. Will you let me in, or am I going to have to sing about it?"

Lorne considered it. "Might help."

"Can we come in?" asked a plaintive, young, female voice from outside. Lorne's eyebrows jumped.

"Not gonna work, Little Bit," said Spike. "Watch this." And he began singing, "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am, I am . . ."

"Augh! Stop, for God's sake, stop!" Lorne covered his ears, determined to not let that song take over his brain, as it was wont to do. Besides, he'd gotten quite enough information already. "I'm opening the door."

It opened to reveal not just Spike, but three other figures. One lovely little post-adolescent, one pretty little girl, and one person Lorne knew.

". . . don't like this dark and the smell, no, sir, it's not good at all, and oh! He's a nice one." Fred smiled sweetly.

"Freddo! Glad to see you again. Why don't you all come on in?" Lorne stepped aside gallantly.

The smallest girl screamed. "Monster!" she cried, pointing at the Terl demon, who was currently engaged in a battle of bad attitudes with Spike.

"It's okay," the older girl hastened to say, trying to calm the child. "It . . . is okay, isn't it, Spike?"

"We're okay here," said Spike. "No violence allowed."

Lorne gestured for the Terl demon to go. "Don't worry, little sweetheart. No one's going to hurt you here. Certainly not me." The child looked at him, and her expression changed from fear to curiosity. Lorne held out a hand. "I'm Lorne. What's your name?"

The little girl took his hand shyly. "I'm Sarah Anne Burnham." Her slight Southern accent was music to Lorne's ears.

"Great to meet you, Sarah Anne. And who might you be, dollface?" He turned to the older girl, the one with a cloak (which was attempting to convince Lorne it wasn't there) draped over her arm.

"I'm Dawn Summers," she said, and Lorne didn't even need to hear her sing to see the pain and grief in her aura. Word got around the demon underworld quickly, and he knew the Slayer was dead. The name Summers combined with such pain could only mean one thing.

Spike had shut the door. "We're running from an evil mage," the vampire explained. "He sent some demon dogs after us, and I got my leg chewed up trying to keep them off the girls."

The slight bit Lorne had been able to pick up from Spike through a few seconds of song had thoroughly piqued the Host's curiosity. "Boy, howdy, somebody's been changing. What have you been doing in your spare time, pilgrim?"

"Got a couple hours?" Spike winced on his bad leg. "And a place for me to sit?"

Sarah Anne began to cry. "I want Mama."

"She's okay, Sarah Anne," Dawn reassured her. Her eyes flicked up to Spike. "She'll be okay, right, Spike?"

"Talk to him," Spike said, tilting his head toward Lorne. "He's the bloody psychic."

Dawn's blue eyes sought out the demon. "Can you tell us what's happening?"

"Well, maybe, little darling," replied Lorne. "But for that, I'll need someone to sing for me. And what's singing without a little something to drink? Luis!" The bartender stood up from behind the bar, where he'd been restocking the drinks. He looked annoyed. "Luis, mi amigo, kindly whip up a couple of Shirley Temples for the little ladies. Fred? You want anything?"

"Oh! Coke, please," requested Fred.

"A Coke with a wedge of lemon for our favorite Pylean expatriate, and a double shot of O-negative for Spike here. Come on, girls and boy, let's have some singing."

***

Angel watched, transfixed, as the White convened their tribunal. Wesley shook himself out of his shock and ran to Rebecca, who was still struggling to breathe. He lifted her into a sitting position. Her lips had turned blue, and her skin was graying. Desperate, Wesley looked at the White, his eyes finding Zanita Banerjee.

"Dr. Banerjee!" he called.

A moment later, a single White detached herself from the circle. Her space was immediately closed by her two neighbors. The girl—she didn't look any older than Rebecca—literally floated down to where Wesley was holding Rebecca. She knelt, stretching her hands out to within a few inches of the former Slayer-in-Waiting's body.

Within seconds, Wesley felt Rebecca relax, breathing deeply. Color flushed her cheeks and lips, and her eyes opened.

"Uncle Wesley?" she murmured.

"It's all right, Rebecca. It's over. Just rest," he told her. She closed her eyes, letting Wesley support her.

The White who had healed her smiled briefly at Wesley, then floated back to her place in the circle.

"Andrew Grant Burnham," the Order of the White intoned. "We find you culpable in the matter of the following crimes." Each charge was stated by a different member of the circle.

"In the magical abuse of Cassandra Elaine Hollins Burnham, your wife."

"In the death of Amanda Jeane Burnett of West Virginia, a mage."

"In the use of black magicks to hide your actions from the White."

"In the summoning of accursed spirits."

"In consorting with demons."

"In the death of Jerome Wayne McKinley of Kansas, a warlock."

"In the enslavement of a Faery."

The charges went on, finally ending with, "In the assault on Rebecca Catherine Phyllida Martin-Pryce."

"We find you guilty," the White chorused. "How do you plead?"

"You can all go hang," Andrew spat. "You think you have authority over me?"

"One finds little governance on your actions," said Banerjee contemptuously. "Particularly that which you should have had over yourself. Do you wish to defend yourself against our charges?"

Andrew sneered at them. "You think you can win this way? Blast the mage power out of me? Go right ahead. I'll still be a warlock. Unless you were planning on killing me, of course, if that's what this kangaroo court is all about."

Zanita Banerjee smiled thinly. "No, that's not what this is about. You're a special case, Andrew Burnham. The White will not punish you."

That startled everyone in the room, including Andrew. "What?" he asked, the disdain shaken out of his voice.

Another woman, one with a distinct Irish accent, spoke next. "Your actions have brought the Fey nigh unto war with us, Andrew Burnham. The Mab has demanded blood, and blood she shall have. Your own actions will dictate your fate."

And as one, the White turned to face Sandra. "Cassandra Elaine Hollins Burnham, thy tongue is loosed. Speak the name thou wast given."

Sandra blurted out several syllables which no one could remember for even a moment afterward. Andrew's eyes were suddenly wide with fear.

A distortion formed off to one side. Then the fabric of space itself seemed to tear, and a single form coalesced in it. She was small, dark, bearing a spear and painted with blue, and she was angry beyond anything.

"No!" shouted Andrew. "I banished you!"

"Thou no longer hast the power," the Faery snarled. "I have given my name to another, and by that other, I am called. Vengeance is sought by the Fey; I am the instrument."

Suddenly, violently, her form was wrenched in two directions. Three distinct figures stood where one had before: the Dark, the form they had first seen; the Fair, tall and willowy, her face bright with intelligence; and the Russet, so sensual every man and woman in the room was instantly affected by her.

"Don't look at her eyes," warned Wesley suddenly. "Any of them, avoid the eyes."

The three Aspects surrounded Andrew in the time it took for a thought to form. He was literally petrified with fear.

And they changed. Each had been beautiful; now they were hideous beyond bearing. Needle-sharp fingers speared into Andrew's chest. He screamed. Kate turned to Sandra, drawing the other woman's head down to her chest, blocking her view.

Light flashed from within Andrew Burnham for one terrible moment, and then it was over. The three Aspects merged back together into the form of the Fair as Andrew dropped to the floor, a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The Faery, beautiful again, floated over to where Kate stood with Sandra. "Lady," it said, its voice strangely choral, as if speaking for all three Aspects.

Sandra raised her head, horror in her face as she looked at the body of her estranged husband. She looked at the Faery.

"Lady," the Faery said again. "We serve thee, Lady. Speak thy will."

"Set her free," hissed Wesley. "Tell her you want her to be free, Sandra."

The Faery paid no attention to him, focusing entirely on Sandra.

"I . . ." Sandra was in a state of shock. It took her a moment to get the words out. "I want you to be free."

The form changed to that of the Russet. She smiled. "Thou art indeed kind, Lady. Thy will shall be done, after I have given thee one last gift for thy kindness." The Russet leaned forward, placing a kiss on Sandra's forehead. "Thus I leave, taking with me thy burden. Be at peace, Lady. Let not thy mind dwell upon these dire events, for they were none of thine own making."

The Faery changed once more, into the Fair Aspect, and then slipped back out of the dimension.

Sandra blinked, as if coming out of a deep sleep. She looked slightly confused, but at peace. "Is it over?" she asked.

"It's over," confirmed Banerjee.

"Oh. I think I need to sit down." Kate helped Sandra to the couch.

The White broke out of their circle, various ones staying with Andrew's body, others going to the aftermath of the battle with the demon dogs, and the healer going back to check on Rebecca. The demon dog corpses were all gone in moments, and even their blood disappeared out of the carpet.

Angel sensed something strange: Andrew was still breathing, and his heart was still beating. The vampire went over to inspect the dark mage. Yes, he was still alive, but . . .

Angel recoiled in horror. "He has no soul."

"No," said the Irishwoman who'd spoken before. "The Fey can strip you of your soul. That's why you shouldn't look them in the eyes. Not that it would have made a difference in this case." She looked at the body. "He'll die soon. No human can survive having their soul stripped away so violently."

Angel pulled away, feeling sick. Andrew Burnham had been the one to invoke these forces, so he had to have known the possible repercussions, but still . . . still, Angel felt no one deserved such a fate.

Down in the lobby, Rebecca was sitting up, feeling her chest and talking to Wesley and the healing mage.

"I think I'm all right," the ex-Slayer-in-Waiting said. "On the other hand, I may collapse. I'll let you know when I've decided."

"Being healed takes it out of you," said the mage, whose name was Wendy. "Give yourself a day to be back at full strength, and eat well. Keep hydrated, too, and I wouldn't go swimming."

Gunn walked over and hunched down by Rebecca, smiling. "Nice moves, girl."

Rebecca blushed. "Nice moves, yourself." She clasped his offered hand.

"Nice moves, duh. You saved my life." Cordelia had come up from the other side. "You broke that thing's neck with your legs. That is so entirely gross under normal circumstances, but I'm not complaining. Thank you."

Rebecca's blush deepened, and when she raised her eyes to Cordelia's they were suspiciously moist. "You're very welcome, Cordelia."

Cordelia waved a hand. "Call me Cordy."

Zanita Banerjee, meanwhile, had gone over to the couch, where Kate and Sandra sat. "Are you all right?"

Sandra looked up. "I'm . . . shaky. I can't believe . . . I don't know what to feel. What happened?"

The mage smiled gently. "When the Faery gave you her name, she gave you the power to call her from any dimension. Apparently, your husband banished her after she helped you escape him. However, because you had her name, you had the power to call her back—and that gave you more power than he had when she did return. And as she was incredibly angry, she sought vengeance on him. The White had agreed to that as terms for keeping the peace between Fey and magi. It wasn't any of your fault, Sandra. Please understand that."

"I do," said Sandra. "I don't understand much of what happened here, but I understand that. Where's my daughter?"

A moment later, a bored-looking blond mage with Slavic features walked over and thrust out her hand. "I am Lyudmilla Alexandrovna Kovashnikova. Please to call me Lyuda. I will find daughter."

"She may be wearing a Fey cloak," warned Sandra.

"Is not problem. Please concentrate on daughter, thank you." Lyuda put her hands on either side of Sandra's face, not quite touching her, and for a long moment, there was silence. Then the mage opened her eyes again. "Daughter is at place called Caritas."

Angel, nearby, considered that for a moment, then began to laugh. "Who'd have thought?" he said. "Spike did something right."

***

As Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Rebecca, Kate, Sandra, and Dr. Banerjee reached Caritas, the door was suddenly opened. "Please come in," invited Lorne gallantly. "We've been expecting you."

All of them filed in except Kate, who came to an abrupt halt when she saw Lorne. He looked at her. She looked at him.

"You're a demon," she noted.

"Please, honey," snorted the Host. "Some of us prefer the term 'Otherworldly American.'"

Angel caught her arm. "It's all right. Come on inside." Kate allowed herself to be led, keeping a suspicious eye on Lorne the whole time.

Inside, Sarah Anne had flown into her mother's arms, and the two were holding each other and crying. Dawn set down the Shirley Temple she'd been sipping and ran over to bestow hugs liberally amongst the new arrivals. Fred waved cheerfully from where she sat.

"Where have all you blighters been?" asked Spike, holding a glass of blood. "We've been sitting here forever." One of his pants legs, Angel noted, was shredded.

"Spike sang," Dawn announced.

"That he did, indeed," confirmed Lorne. He nudged Angel. "Why is it that only the blond members of your family can sing, Angelcakes?"

Angel gave him the hairy eyeball as Cordelia and Gunn guffawed. Cordelia, who had Dawn's arms wrapped around her waist, went over and sat with the girl. Lorne drew Angel aside.

"Actually, they all sang," the Host said. He looked at Dawn, one hand on his heart. "Little Miss Muffet there—she breaks the heart, doesn't she?"

"She does," murmured Angel.

"She's got a tough road ahead of her, my friend. Being the Key isn't a temporary thing with her, and she's gonna have to live with it."

Angel turned to him. "Is there anything we can do to help? She's been hurt so badly, and frankly, it's a little beyond me what to do."

"Never fear, my dear. Help is no further away than Blue Eyes over there." Lorne pointed at Kate. "Ask her how to deal with Dawn's PTSD."

"Huh?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You know, a man in your position ought to keep up on his basic psychology." The Host looked at where Sandra sat with Sarah Anne in her lap, then at Cordelia and Dawn, huddled together and laughing over something. "Little sweethearts. I give my heart too easily. Kinda like the Platinum Destroyer over there." He indicated Spike.

That hit on something Angel had been worrying over. "Spike and Dawn—I'm worried. Is it going to be a problem?"

Lorne gave him a look. "Okay, sugar, remember that discretion is what keeps me in the job. Not to mention my life."

Angel dug in. "Lorne, I need to know. If he's going to be a problem, then I need to know."

"No, you don't," stated Lorne.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. You, Angel, are not the one who needs to worry over them."

"Not the one to worry about them?" questioned Angel. "Seems to me like I'm the perfect one to worry."

Lorne sighed. "Angel, sweetie, honey, darling, love of my life . . ."

"Lorne . . ."

"What I meant is what I said," explained the Host again. "If there is some cause to worry about Dawn re: Spike—or Spike re: Dawn—you are not the one who needs to be doing it. So cut it out. He's the right guardian for her right now, and that's as far as I'm saying. Kapische?"

Angel knew he'd reached the end of the line with Lorne. Although he wasn't satisfied completely, he decided to trust what the Host said—for now.

Lorne then bugged Luis into drinks all around, after which he sent the beleaguered bartender and the entire renovations crew (which was mostly of the demon variety) home. The group stayed for a time in which things were explained, Spike gave a greatly-exaggerated version of the fight in the sewers, and Kate was bothered into singing a little Patsy Cline. She had a beautiful voice, which some had heard while she was tending "her" garden in the Hyperion's courtyard, and Lorne fell in love for the third time that evening.

Soon, though, Dawn and Sarah Anne were yawning and sagging, as was Rebecca. "We need to go," decided Wesley. As the group got up to leave, though, he pulled Zanita Banerjee aside.

"Is Sandra all right?" he asked. "I'd have expected more trauma than this."

"She is all right," said Banerjee. "The Faery muted events in her mind, so Sandra, at the moment, does not have a complete version of what happened in her memories. There's no chance she'll ever think of it as being her fault. She'll never remember the Faery taking Andrew's soul." The mage shrugged. "The White couldn't correct her memories, even if we wished to. She's happier this way."

Wesley nodded. "I understand. Perhaps it is better this way. Thank you for your help, Dr. Banerjee."

"Call me Zanita," said the mage. "And I should be thanking you. You helped us bring a dangerous mage to justice, Wesley. For that alone, you have our gratitude. Call upon the White anytime you have need of us. We do not forget our friends."

As they were all leaving, Lorne quickly caught Dawn's arm. "You know that idea you've been tossing around, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Dawn said.

"It's a great one. Just what the little lamb needs. Talk to her mother ASAP." Lorne winked and nodded, and Dawn smiled back. Then she ran to catch up with Sandra.

Wesley's car, Angel's car, and Gunn's truck were all loaded up with people, magi, and vampires, and they all headed home.

EPILOGUE FORTHCOMING (no, really)


	6. Epilogue: Fun on Saturday, Departures on...

Note: Thanks to Godiva for the Bloody Awful Poem and JoMadge for the Bloody Awful Limerick

Note: Thanks to Godiva for the Bloody Awful Poem and JoMadge (with a little help from Gyrus) for the Bloody Awful Limerick. I hope you all can live with yourselves.

Epilogue: Fun on Saturday, Departures on Sunday

__

Dear Buffy,

Wow, was last night scary! Just when we thought the White were going to come in and take out Andrew (Sandra's evil creepo mage husband), he shows up at the door. Spike took me, Sarah Anne (S.A.) and Fred down through the sewers to find a safe place. He had to fight off six demon dogs while we were down there, but Fred helped him, and all he got was a bad bite on the leg. Then we went to this place called Caritas, which is a demon karaoke bar (don't worry, it was closed for renovations). That was really cool. The owner is this seriously cool and funny green guy named Lorne who can read your aura if you sing for him. I think he's crushing on Angel, too.

The Fang Gang did great with Andrew, too. Cordy said Rebecca saved her life by breaking a demon dog's neck with her legs. That sounds like something you would've done. She also said Sandra yelled "I want a divorce!" at Andrew, which I think is great. Sandra's really nice, she's just been through a lot. And Angel beat up Andrew, and then the White showed up and took him down. Wish I'd seen that.

Sandra says she and S.A. are going back to Virginia now. The White said they'd help her rebuild her life back there. They're leaving Monday. Today's S.A.'s birthday, though, and I had this great idea: we're gonna throw S.A. a birthday party! Kate said there are other kids at the shelter who'd like to come, so we're going to decorate the ballroom and have a blast. I swear Angel turned even whiter when I told him my idea, but Cordy helped me convince him. Spike's being a real pain to him, though. They're kinda fun to watch.

Anyway, Cordy and I are going shopping after breakfast, so I'd better get down there. Wesley says Cordy's been known to spend entire days at the mall. She hit him on the head for saying that.

Talk to you later!

***

"No offense, Rebecca," Cordelia was saying as Dawn walked into the kitchen. "I mean, you saved my life and everything, and I know you're good with that staff thing, but I just don't think you can do it."

"No way in hell," Spike agreed.

"Mmm." The British girl smiled confidently, holding a quarterstaff. "Either of you care to put money on that? Twenty bucks says I can."

Cordelia shrugged. "Okay. I'll bite. I say I'll be taking another twenty from you."

"I'll bite, too," put in Spike.

"Shouldn't you re-phrase that?" asked Rebecca. Spike glared.

Dawn looked curiously from one face to another. "What's happening?"

Cordelia pointed to the table, which had ten egg cups, each holding a raw egg, lined up on it. "Rebecca says she can use overhead strikes with that big stick of hers and crack—not break, but crack—every one of those eggs."

"No whites should be visible," added Rebecca.

"Anyway, Spike and I each have twenty bucks riding on the no," Cordelia finished.

"Want in on the action, Little Bit?" asked the blond vampire. "Easy money."

Angel turned around from where he was making coffee. "No teaching Dawn to gamble, Spike."

The group stood back as Rebecca approached the table. Ten swings of her staff created ten lightly-cracked eggs. Wesley examined them.

"I'd say we're having eggs for breakfast," he noted smugly. "How would you like yours, Cordelia? Poached? Scrambled? On your face?"

"Ha, ha." Cordelia reluctantly opened her purse.

Rebecca held up a hand. "No need, Cordy. I couldn't take a friend's money." She then held out that hand to Spike. "But I will take yours."

"Hey! I thought you were bein' all generous," protested the blond vampire.

"Pony up, Spike," ordered Angel. "And don't whine about it."

Disgusted, Spike produced a twenty and handed it over. Rebecca took it and ostentatiously stuffed it in her bra.

"Least now there's something in there," grumbled Spike. Angel smacked him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Do you take coffee, Rebecca?" asked Angel, holding out a fresh cup.

Rebecca shuddered. "Horrid stuff. I much prefer tea. Top cupboard, isn't it?"

"Over there." Angel pointed. Wesley took the cup Angel was holding.

"You drink coffee now, Uncle Wesley?" Rebecca asked. "I swear, you're growing more American by the moment. Any second now, you'll start talking like Donald Duck."

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Wesley scolded mock-sternly. "Actually, coffee is completely tolerable—provided Angel makes it."

Cordelia explained, "We've got a system here: Angel makes the coffee on account of Wesley doesn't make it at all if he can avoid it, I supposedly make it too weak, and as for Gunn . . ."

"Last time Gunn made coffee, it almost started my heart," said Angel.

"You people are all wusses," declared Gunn. "Coffee should put hair on your chest."

"And take it off your head, I suppose," said Spike. "By the way, you people need to get more cocoa. Get a better brand this time, something like that Stephen's Gourmet or what-all, not that Swiss Miss crap. I don't see how you stand that stuff."

"This coming from someone who drinks microwaved blood, of course," retorted Cordelia.

Rebecca was opening Wesley's tea tin. "I personally don't care for any American brand. European chocolate is far superior."

"And this from a gal whose country provided us with such culinary delights as kidney pie and blood sausage," Cordelia pointed out.

"Well, kidney pie is . . . it's not . . . I mean to say, it's . . ." Rebecca gave it up. "Simply horrible, if you must know. Great-aunt Phyllida used to love it, so whenever we visited her or she visited us, we'd have it for dinner. As Mother didn't want to offend her—Aunt Phyllida was extremely wealthy—we'd all have to clean our plates. I'm convinced it led directly to my digestive difficulties."

Angel and Wesley traded a look then, and Angel walked over to Dawn. "Dawn, late last night, Giles called from England. He's going to be here tomorrow evening to pick you up."

"To—to go back to Sunnydale?" Dawn's good mood was rapidly evaporating. Going back to Sunnydale, back to her empty house, without Buffy or Mom . . .

"Yes." Angel seemed to understand her ambivalence. "Giles said he got something worked out with the Watchers to ensure you won't have to go into foster care, so don't worry about that. And I know Willow and Xander are looking forward to seeing you again."

Dawn nodded. "I guess. Do you—do you think maybe I could come back sometime? Visit?"

"Well, duh," said Cordelia. "You think we're going to let you spend your whole summer in Sunnydale? Not a chance, babe."

"You're welcome anytime, Dawn," Angel affirmed.

That made her feel better. Sandra and Sarah Anne came downstairs, Angel prepared the eggs (scrambled), and they all sat down to a happy, relaxed breakfast. Cordelia and Dawn finished first.

"We'd better get going," Cordelia said. "Dawnie and I are hitting the mall hard today." The Seer paused a moment. "Want to come along, Rebecca?"

Pure joy followed shock on Rebecca's face. She got her expression back under control quickly. "I'd love to, Cordy. Just give me a moment, and I'll be right with you."

"You sure?" asked Angel. "I was going to ask if you wanted to spar again."

Rebecca gave him a wry look. "Much as I'd love to get bruised head to toe again, after Wendy was so kind as to heal me last night, my X chromosomes are calling. I will, however, take a rain check on that spar."

"Consider it done." Angel gave her a slight smile as she put her dishes in the sink and went to follow Cordelia and Dawn. After they were gone, the vampire turned to Wesley. "You were right about her."

Wesley's expression was pure pride. "Yes. Occasionally, just occasionally, something good does come out of my family. And before Spike can make sarcastic comments about that—Sandra, how are you this morning?"

"I feel like I've been reborn," Sandra said, very sincere. "I slept well for the first time in years last night. It's finally over, and I'm so grateful. There's no way I can thank you all enough. There are just no words."

"We're only too glad to help, Sandra," Wesley replied. "It's what we do."

"No." Sandra shook her head. "No, you've done way more than you had to. Any of you could have been killed for me or my daughter. That's . . ." She stopped, swallowed hard. "That's something I never would have asked you to do, but . . ." She couldn't go on.

"Sandra." Angel was standing by her shoulder. "Like Wesley said: it's what we do."

"It's the truth. Disgusting, isn't it?" commented Spike. "Risking their lives for perfect strangers—I do hope insanity isn't hereditary, or I'm doomed."

Angel had noticed something. "You're wearing your leather pants this morning, Spike. Why could that be? Maybe because your other pants got shredded last night when you risked your life protecting Dawn, Sarah Anne, and Fred?"

Gunn snickered. Spike glared. "Don't take that too serious, Peaches," the blond vampire spat. "It was Little Bit I was protecting. The other two . . ." He thought. "Well, they are kind of cute, especially Tiny Bit, and that Fred's kind of nutty, which I always find attractive, but it's not like I'm getting all warm and cuddly."

Sandra whispered something to her daughter. Sarah Anne jumped up, ran over to Spike, and hugged him hard around the waist before returning, giggling, to her mother.

"Somebody stake me now," Spike moaned in the face of Angel and Wesley's laughter. "I need to do something evil." The Magnetic Poetry attracted his eye, and he went over to rearrange it. He finished the task, loudly announced he was going for a smoke, and left the room.

Gunn went over to inspect his work. " 'My love is like a dead, dead rose/Whose smell is all effulgent/My love smells sweet from nose to toes/If I may be indulgent.' Where the he . . . ck does he come up with this sh . . . stuff?" He reached for the poetry.

"Leave it," said Angel.

"Why?" asked Gunn. "You know how Cordy feels about it."

"Yes, I do," concurred Angel. "Unfortunately."

Wesley looked over at the elder vampire. "You've come to the same conclusion I have, then?" Angel nodded, looking unhappy.

"Would someone mind explaining what the two of you are talking about?" demanded Gunn.

"Simply put," said Wesley, "Cordelia is enjoying having someone around who a) flirts outrageously with her and b) she can rip apart verbally." Angel nodded his agreement, looking even more unhappy.

Gunn wrinkled his nose. "That's just wrong."

***

A few hours later, Cordelia, Dawn, and Rebecca came back to the Hyperion laden with bags, bags, and more bags. Wesley counted multiple bags from three different clothing stores, two from Toys R Us, three from Hallmark, and another from B. Dalton. In addition, all three women were holding the strings of what looked like at least twenty purple, silver, and white helium balloons.

"I'm extremely concerned about the state of my credit card," Angel murmured.

Sandra came forward and relieved them of the Toys R Us bags and one of the Hallmark bags, the one with wrapping paper rolls sticking out of the top. Cordelia pointed at the menfolk.

"You three have two hours to decorate the ballroom. Sarah Anne, you're coming upstairs so we can turn you into the Purple Princess. Get cracking, boys." 

All the women then removed themselves to the upstairs, leaving the remaining Hallmark bags and all the balloons. Angel, Wesley, and Gunn looked at each other, then approached the bags with much trepidation. Reaching into one, Angel produced several streamers. He considered them briefly, then began to smile just a little.

"Spike?" he called. "I've got a job for you . . ."

***

At two o'clock, several vans pulled up outside the Hyperion. They unloaded nine adult women, including Kate, and eleven children ages four to fourteen. One of the women also had a baby. Kate carried a monstrous cake.

"Where do you want this?" the ex-cop panted. Angel took it from her and ushered them into the ballroom, where tables had been laid out. Another of the women began making punch. Kate caught Angel's arm and pulled him over to a petite blond.

"Angel, this is Beth Visser, my boss," Kate introduced. "Bethie, this is Angel, the friend I told you about."

"I'm so happy to meet you, Angel," said Beth. "Kate's told me how much you and your team helped Sandra and Sarah Anne."

"Pleased," said Angel, shaking her hand. There were far too many people milling about for his comfort. He was insanely grateful to see Wesley and beckoned the ex-Watcher over. "Wesley, this is Beth Visser, Kate's boss. This is Wesley, my boss."

Wesley shook the woman's hand with a smile, and Angel made a hasty retreat as they started to chat. He had almost reached the door when Gunn entered, lugging a perfectly enormous stereo.

"What's this?" Angel asked.

Gunn looked at him in disgust. "Tunes, man. You can't have a party without music. Help me with that extension cord, will you?"

What with one odd job after another, Angel was effectively unable to escape. When he finally did exit the ballroom, it was only to find the women descending the staircase with some ceremony.

They looked wonderful. Cordelia was wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit, deep purple on top and black below the high waistline. Rebecca, right behind her, had on a simple sheath dress of lavender silk. Her hair was in a French roll with curls trailing down her neck. Dawn was wearing a glittering amethyst top and a black skirt, with her hair sectioned and pulled back from her face into a number of tiny butterfly clips. Sandra's dress was similar to Rebecca's, but with a floral pattern. Even Fred had a new dress, an elegant purple knit wraparound, and her hair was pulled back into a clip from which it tumbled in vagrant curls down her back.

Last came Sarah Anne. She was wearing a glittery purple party dress with a fake ermine cape over her shoulders and a tiara on her head. She was even carrying a scepter. A closer inspection revealed that her nails had been painted purple.

Angel had to smile as they hit the floor. "You all look great," he said.

Cordelia raised one eyebrow. "Coming from you, that's practically gushing. We had a lot of fun." Angel thought of his credit card again. It must have showed, because Cordelia thumped him lightly and said, "Don't worry. The clothes went on Rebecca's credit card."

"And Daddy's paying it off," Rebecca confided slyly.

"Did I mention how much I like her?" said Cordelia. "And look! We discovered she has legs!"

"I can see that," said Gunn from behind Angel. He checked out said legs appreciatively. Too appreciatively, apparently. Wesley, who had joined them, looked at the younger man sharply.

"The party is awaiting only the entrance of the Purple Princess," the ex-Watcher announced after a moment. "If you ladies would like escorts, I believe we'd be the most privileged men in the world."

Wesley took Sandra's arm and Sarah Anne's hand, Gunn escorted Rebecca and Fred, and Cordelia and Dawn forcibly steered Angel into the ballroom.

It wasn't quite as bad as Angel had feared. He forcibly quashed his "bite or avoid" instinct and discovered yet again that children didn't bother him nearly as much as adults. Sarah Anne imperiously demanded that Angel draw a purple and pink dragon for her, and her request was quickly followed by almost every child in the room begging for a drawing of their own (with variations on the fantastical creature and color scheme).

As he finished the last drawing, Cordelia and Gunn were out in the center of the floor dancing with Dawn and Sarah Anne. Angel took a moment to appreciate the sight, then went for his sketch pad again. He began to draw the scene.

Spike suddenly appeared at his elbow.

"Miss Cordelia's lookin' delicious, isn't she, mate?"

"She's beautiful."

"Why haven't you ever made a move for her? It's what I've been trying to figure out."

"Curse, remember?"

"Come on! You don't love her that way, so what makes you think having a good shag with Cordelia and her decadent curves would cost you your soul? Besides, isn't the risk worth it?"

"Therein lies the rub, William. I have sex with her and lose my soul, I torture, maim, and kill her, thus ruining our friendship. I have sex with her and don't lose my soul, she's insulted, thus ruining our friendship."

"Hm. That curse of yours is a real bugger-all, isn't it?"

"I've noticed that."

"Mind if I give it a shot?"

"If you don't mind being shot down."

"Think I should ask for a dance, then?"

"It's your face that's going to get slapped, not mine."

"Think she would?"

"Dance?"

"Slap my face, you ninny. You think she really would?"

"I'm sure of it."

"In that case, I'll definitely ask her to dance."

Angel shook his head as Spike headed out to the dance floor. The younger vampire sauntered over to Cordelia, challenge in his eyes. She looked at him and the challenge he was presenting, set her mouth, and resolutely turned and began to dance with him, heating up her moves a little. Spike, Angel discovered with some chagrin, was an excellent dancer. Gunn gave them a disbelieving, then disgusted look. He shook his head and went over to pull a giggling Fred onto the dance floor. Dawn and Sarah Anne continued to dance together.

Kate plopped down by Angel. She was flushed and smiling, just having come back from playing a game with the older kids. Angel liked the change in her over the past few months. She was softer, more open, but also more grounded than ever.

"You doing okay?" she asked.

"Surprisingly enough, yes," answered Angel. He started adding Spike's figure to his drawing. "I've found I like the company of children better than adults. There's less pretense with them."

Kate nodded, eyes faraway. "I know what you mean. If they see something strange, they don't start rationalizing it. If something hurts, they don't want to analyze or understand it; they just want it to stop." She watched as an eleven-year-old boy came whizzing around on a scooter, hotly pursued by five other children. "And they're so full of life."

Angel had darker memories of children, memories of when that very life led him to hunt and feed upon them. Memories of viciously murdering innocents like Dawn and Sarah Anne.

He allowed the guilt to wash through him, settling again into a resolution to protect these children from predators like he'd once been. It was the only peace he could find, he knew, but it was comfort nonetheless.

"They are life," he murmured.

"Rebecca, no!" Angel and Kate turned sharply at Wesley's voice. Rebecca had hold of the ex-Watcher's arm and was resolutely dragging him toward the dancers.

"Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Uncle Wesley," she chided.

"But I look like a big dork when I dance. Cordelia says so," Wesley protested, nay, whined.

"Wonderful! So do I. Let's be dorks together!" Rebecca yanked her uncle into position, took his hands, and more or less forced him into dancing with her. Angel reflected to himself that they did, indeed, look like dorks. But happy ones.

Kate touched his arm and pointed across the room at a nice-looking woman with shoulder-length brown hair. "That's Julie, by the way."

"The psychiatrist you told me about?" Angel asked. The previous night, on Lorne's tip, Angel had spoken with Kate at length about Dawn. Kate had immediately told him about Julie, a psychiatrist who received state money for working with shelter patrons.

"Julie had a horrible run-in with a demon a few years ago," Kate had said. "She's still got the scars. Furthermore, she doesn't feel compelled to be in denial about the attack or about other supernatural happenings. I've counseled with her myself. If anyone can help Dawn, it's her."

Now, Kate looked at Angel. "I spoke to her this morning and asked her if she'd be willing to at least talk to Dawn today. I expect she'll be drawing her aside any time now."

"Good," Angel decided. He went back to his drawing, only to find it mostly done.

The music changed to something a little slower. Wesley gladly moved in for a slow dance with Rebecca, who contentedly leaned her head on his shoulder. Cordelia wasn't about to dance cheek-to-cheek with Spike, but did take his hands and move a bit closer.

"I don't suppose . . ." Kate bit her lip, looking at Angel. "I don't suppose you'd like to dance?"

"I—I don't dance," Angel said hastily.

"Oh. Okay." Kate blushed a little.

Great, thought Angel. Now I've embarrassed her. Aloud, he said, "It's not you, Kate. It's just that . . . the last person who got me to dance . . ."

Kate nodded, understanding. "Buffy, right?"

"Yes." Angel continued to watch the floor. A few mothers had collected their children and were cuddling them close, dancing. Sarah Anne had stepped up onto Dawn's feet, and the two swayed together.

Making a decision, Angel set aside his sketch pad and stood, holding out a hand to Kate. Surprised, she took it. He led her out to the dance floor, and she moved into his arms.

She was warm and alive and real against him. He thought back to the Prom he'd danced with Buffy at, remembering the love and the pain between them, the knowledge that he must leave in order to be true to that love. The pain had increased, then decreased, then increased again, and the love had changed its form, but both love and pain were still present.

Even though now, they only existed within Angel.

Kate pulled back and looked into his face, concerned, as a small sound of pain escaped him. He drew her in again, needing her warmth and the friendship that, against all odds, had flourished between them. Over her head, he caught sight of Cordelia. She looked into his eyes with sympathy. Spike was also looking his way, the younger vampire's expression knowing. Angel conjured a slight smile for them and turned his attention back to Kate.

They danced together, surrounded by life and family.

***

"Dawn?"

The young teen turned from where she was refilling her punch cup and found a brown-haired woman with kind eyes looking at her. "That's me," Dawn said.

The woman stuck out her hand. "I'm Julie. I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk."

Dawn took her hand, a little confused. "Why?"

"Kate asked me to talk to you," Julie said. "She said something bad happened to you, and you needed someone to talk with about it."

A suspicion was forming in Dawn's mind. "Are you, like, a psychologist?"

"Psychiatrist, actually. Believe it or not, there is a difference, even if most people couldn't tell you what it is." Julie's brown eyes twinkled. "The important thing, though, is that I might be able to help you deal with some of the things that are making you feel bad and afraid. Would you like me to try?"

The respite from her worries that the shopping trip and the party had given Dawn had already been giving way to concerns about what the future might bring. She felt the knot of anxiety that had become her constant companion for the past year tighten within her chest. Julie was looking at her, compassion in her eyes, and Dawn silently nodded.

"Come on, then," said the psychiatrist. "Let's find someplace quiet."

Across the room, Angel and Kate watched Julie and Dawn exit. "Thanks, Kate," said the vampire.

Kate touched the scar on her neck unconsciously. "All of us occasionally need someone to talk to."

Fred ran up, eyes bright. "Little Tiny's having such a great time bein' the Purple Princess, and doesn't it just remind you of Cordelia in the Bad Place? 'Cept, of course, for the monsters and the bad priests and all the ugliness of revolution, but that, fortunately enough, isn't likely to happen at a little girl's birthday party, now, is it?" She gave Angel the sweetest smile imaginable, then ran back to dance with Gunn.

Angel looked at Kate. "Maybe Julie could talk to Fred, too."

***

An hour later, the members of Angel Investigations finally filled the last trash bag. It would have been considerably easier if they hadn't had to listen to Spike's non-stop grumbling while Angel poked, prodded, and otherwise physically abused him into helping clean up. The exited the ballroom gratefully, the women removing high heels as they went. Sandra took Sarah Anne upstairs for a nap, and Kate remained to talk to Angel and Wesley.

The office door opened, and Julie and Dawn exited. Dawn was a small mess, the makeup Cordelia had so carefully applied almost completely conquered by the onslaught of the teen's tears. Cordelia reached out to the young girl, who immediately buried herself in the Seer's arms. Julie faced the gathered friends.

"Normally, at this point, I'd want to talk to Dawn's guardian" She looked at the girl in Cordelia's arms. "In this case, obviously, that's a difficulty. Dawn, is there anyone here you'd prefer I speak to?"

Dawn raised her tearstained face. "You can talk to them. I don't mind."

Wesley stepped forward. "We can pass on any pertinent information to Mr. Giles, Dawn's temporary custodian."

"Okay," said Julie. "Dawn has a classic case of PTSD. This includes anxiety, depression, panic attacks, nightmares, inability to concentrate, irritability, all symptoms both you and she have noticed. I think you all know where it started, from what Dawn said. She did tell you all about her experience, didn't she?" The gathered team nodded, and Julie went on. "I'd like to meet with Dawn at least once a week, if that would be feasible. I know it's quite a ways from Sunnydale . . ."

"I'm sure one of the Scoobies could get her down here for her appointments," interrupted Cordelia. "They all want to help Dawn."

Julie nodded. "Her insurance should pay for her sessions. If not, I'll throw in my fee. I'll teach Dawn some relaxation exercises and other coping methods, and I'd also like to put her on medication."

"What kind?" asked Angel, sounding a little wary.

"Well, Xanax, to start off with. It's a fast-acting 'minor tranquilizer,' as we put it. If Dawn starts to feel another panic attack coming on, she can take it and it'll calm her down quickly. Also, I'd like to start her on Paxil. It's called an SSRI. What they do, in layman's terms, is to help the brain to use serotonin more efficiently. The effect is that Dawn will feel better, more optimistic, less anxious. Within two weeks, she'll be sleeping better. After that, she'll be calmer and more able to concentrate. The constant anxiety she's under will lift so she'll be able to go about her normal routine."

"Do you really have to give her drugs?" questioned Angel.

Julie smiled, as if used to the question. "I liken it to taking pain pills for a broken ankle. They don't heal the ankle, and the patient knows she's been hurt, but while she's healing, they will help her live a more normal life. The medications in themselves aren't the answer, but they'll take the edge off the pain Dawn's in and help her concentrate on getting better. Don't worry; I've been using Paxil with my PTSD patients for two years now and have been very pleased with the results. We'll start Dawn with an introductory dose that'll let us know if she's going to have any bad reactions, and if she does well, we'll move her up to the regular dose. I'll drop some samples by the hotel later on, and she can start taking it tonight."

Wesley nodded. "We can pick up the prescriptions, and we'll let Giles know about them as well."

"Good." Julie looked satisfied. "I'll call the Xanax in, and it'll be ready in about an hour. Dawn?" The girl looked at her. "When you get back to Sunnydale, give me a call, and we'll work out times when you can come see me. Okay?"

"Okay." Dawn leaned back against Cordelia. "Thanks, Julie. I—I feel better, you know, just knowing maybe I can get better."

Julie smiled again. "I know exactly the feeling."

After Kate and Julie left, Cordelia declared that they all needed a "Bad Movie Night." As Dawn quickly discovered, that was a Fang Gang tradition in which they brought a television and VCR over to the Hyperion, made cocoa and popcorn, and rented the worst movies they could think of so they could make fun of them.

"We've had Spaghetti Western Night, Badly-Dubbed Martial Arts Film Night, '50s Sci-Fi B-Movie Night—'Day of the Triffids' was my personal favorite—and Brat Pack Night," said Cordelia. "Wesley has declared there will be no Adam Sandler Night, though."

Tonight's movies were "Double Team," that great Jean-Claude Van Damme/Dennis Rodman opus, and "Battlefield Earth." Both were so horrendously bad that even Spike and Gunn set aside their mutual hostility in order to mock them. At one point during "Battlefield Earth," Gunn turned off the sound so he, Spike, and Wesley could overdub the dialogue. Dawn nearly killed herself laughing.

Later, though, she'd never be able to recall just what was so bad about the movies. Sitting snuggled between Angel and Cordelia on the couch, feeling for the first time in so long that she was getting help and might be able to crawl out of the dark hole she'd been in, it felt like a terrible weight had been lifted from her. Not even John Travolta's worst could overcome that.

***

Sunday dawned clear and lazy over Los Angeles. At the Hyperion, Cordelia and Dawn woke early, but spent the morning sprawled in bed together chatting. Angel woke, decided it was too early in the day for a vampire to be awake, turned over, and fell back asleep. Spike took advantage of the quiet to make himself a cup of cocoa (with little marshmallows) and have a smoke in the lobby.

At Wesley's apartment, the ex-Watcher slept late even as his niece crept quietly out of the guest room. She pulled out an international calling card and dialed a number, praying that the phone would be answered. It was.

"Madeleine? Yes, it's me. I was so hoping to catch you. Actually, I'm doing very well indeed. I'll have to fill you in on everything that's happened this week in a letter. It's too much to go over on the phone. How are you?

"That's wonderful to hear. I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to find you, that you'd been reassigned already. What? You mean . . . oh, Madeleine, that's just wonderful! Oh, I'm so looking forward to seeing you when I get back to London! And it's what you want?

"Well, yes, I can certainly understand that. I was a small handful, wasn't I? But you taught me so well! Even Angel said so. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am in America. With Angel. And my Uncle Wesley. And I won't hear a word against him. Yes, he certainly did have potential back then. He's wonderful. I think I've learned more from him in a week than I could learn in an entire year at the Watcher Academy.

"Yes, I have thought about it. I've given it more thought of late than ever before, in fact. Frankly, I'm just not sure what I want to do, Madeleine. On one hand, I think I know more than ever what a Slayer is and what a Watcher should be. On the other hand, knowing that, I'm rather daunted by the thought of becoming a Watcher. Besides, they did throw out Uncle Wesley, and I simply cannot countenance that.

"No? Well, I'm glad they don't need my decision right now. It's a big one. I'm so grateful to you for all you've been to me, and I would want to make certain I'm the right kind of Watcher. Someone like you, or Uncle Wesley, or Rupert Giles.

"But anyway, I'm so glad you're going to remain in London! Once I get back to England, we'll have to 'get together,' as these Americans like to say. I'll tell you all I've been up to over here. It's been an amazing week, it really has.

"Actually, I don't know when I'll be back. I'll have to talk that over with Uncle Wesley. Don't worry; I promise I'll keep in touch. Yes, I mean it this time! Oh, you're going to hold that against me forever, are you?

"Good-bye, Madeleine. It's wonderful hearing your voice again."

Rebecca hung up the phone and found herself hard-pressed to not jump up and shout for joy. The bedroom door behind her opened, and Wesley, with a severe (nearly terminal) case of bed-head, came walking out, yawning. That did it. Rebecca leaped up and flung her arms around her startled uncle's neck, squealing with delight.

"I take it you had a good night," he commented.

"I just called Madeleine, and guess what? She's staying in London now! She's taken a teaching position at the Watcher Academy, so she's not going to be reassigned to another Slayer-in-Waiting and have to run off to the ends of the Earth, and I'll get to see her all the time!" The words tumbled out of Rebecca's mouth.

"That is wonderful." Wesley hugged Rebecca back, then disentangled himself enough to look at her. "I'm glad for you, Rebecca. Does this mean you'll be leaving soon?"

Rebecca sobered. "I was hoping to discuss that with you. Could we make some tea? You may be going native here in California, but I'm still English, and I simply refuse to have a serious discussion without the aid of tea."

They bickered good-naturedly about Wesley's Americanization while he made tea. After it and some English muffins were served, though, Rebecca sobered.

"Uncle Wesley," she began, "I know I haven't exactly been an ideal guest here, but the truth is, I've learned so very much even just this past week. I feel like there's so much more I have to learn from you and the others. So if it's all right with you, and with them, I'd like to stay on for the summer. I don't have to be paid—I've still got the Martin-Pryce money, unless Mother freezes my assets when she finds out where I am—but I'd like very much to stay."

Wesley nodded. "I, too, think there's more you can learn from being here, Rebecca. I'd be pleased to keep you on, and the lovely thing is, I'm the boss; I can do what I like. And I say Angel Investigations has a new intern."

Rebecca nearly hugged him again, but seemed to decide that was a bit too un-English. "I can't promise you won't regret it."

"And I can't promise you won't regret staying. But you're welcome here nonetheless."

The ex-Slayer-in-Waiting looked down at her teacup. "Madeleine said she's still willing to sponsor me as a Watcher. I know . . . I know you've had your problems with them, Uncle Wesley, but Madeleine was the brightest spot in my life. I'd like to be that for some other girl, if I could, and besides—having watched you, I think I understand better than ever what a Watcher is truly supposed to be. Would you mind very much if I did decide to join them?"

"No." Wesley smiled gently, laying a hand over his niece's. "No, I wouldn't. I think you'd be an excellent Watcher, Rebecca, and they need all the good people they can get. Just . . ." He paused for a moment, very serious. "Just don't believe everything they tell you."

***

Spike was taking a turn at working out in the penthouse. He'd gone through sword drills, fought imaginary opponents with an axe, pummeled a heavy bag within an inch of its life, picked up and discarded several other forms of weaponry, and ultimately decided he much preferred sitting down and having a smoke, poofy sire be damned.

Said poofy sire opened the door and let himself in. Angel looked around with an expression of marked dissatisfaction. "I really am going to have to do something about this place. Get some intact windows, for starters."

"That what you do with your spare time?" Spike crushed out his latest cigarette. "Work off that excess sexual energy trying to turn this place into anything other than a falling-down circa-1950s nightmare?"

Angel shrugged. "More or less. By the way, Wesley's downstairs growling about the smell of cigarette smoke in the lobby."

"Had a smoke there this morning," admitted Spike gamely.

"That's pretty much what we figured out."

Spike waited for a few moments, then let out an explosive, unneeded breath. "I take it all that noise you made the first night about how bad you were going to hurt me if I broke any of your precious rules was just noise and nothing more?"

Angel grinned and shook his head. "Poor Spike. You've worked so hard at breaking every one of those rules, haven't you?"

"Yes. And I think I deserve a little payoff, at the very least. Are we going to fight, or what?"

"You ignored the final clause, Spike." Angel gave him an all-too-familiar condescending look. "I said that you were to be on your best behavior, and I genuinely believe you have been."

"That's well and truly pathetic," declared Spike. He stood, paced over to a widow on the shadow side of the building, and looked out. "So. How's that soul of yours holding up?"

"Feels like it's been ripped in half." Angel's eyes went distant. "I know it'll get worse, too. I can't conceive of a world without her in it. You wouldn't think the world, having known her, could possibly let her go." The elder vampire's eyes flicked back to the younger. "And you?"

"Don't have the soul, but I feel like someone's ripped the unbeating heart right out of my chest. You're right about the world, though; about the only thing worth anything in it anymore is Little Bit."

"You look after her." The intensity was back in Angel's eyes, and to a degree Spike couldn't recall ever having seen before. "You watch over her, and never let anything happen to her, or I really will get creative, William."

The words sent a chill down Spike's spine. Angelus saying he would "get creative" meant you could be screaming for a year before he'd let you die.

"Nothing happens to her, mate," Spike said, giving no indication he really was intimidated. "I promised Buffy I'd protect her to the end of the world, if needs be."

"Good. Good." Angel's eyes went distant again, and he turned to walk vaguely back to the door. Before he reached it, though, he turned back to face Spike. "One last thing, William: if you ever get that chip out of your head, leave. Get as far away from Dawn as possible, because you will hurt her, even if you never touch her. Sometimes, the only way to protect someone you love is to leave. And you have to, no matter how much it hurts."

Angel left, and Spike breathed a curse. His mind flashed back to the night before, singing for the Host. The demon had pulled Spike away from Dawn and Sarah Anne to speak with him privately.

"Here's the thing, honey," the Host had said. "You're gonna hate hearing this, but tomorrow, Angel's going to give you a piece of advice. Now, I know it goes totally against your religion, but you're gonna want to listen to what your grandsire says, because sweetie—if you don't, the day will come when Key Girl over there will regret it. Comprende?"

The blond vampire lit another cigarette, trying to calm the sudden storm inside him. Angel couldn't be right. There was no way Spike would ever hurt Dawn, even if he did get the chip out. And what the hell did he mean, "you will hurt her, even if you never touch her"? That made no sense at all. And she'd understand if he took up feeding off humans again. If she didn't like it, he could leave them alive, or only kill "bad" humans, and he'd leave her friends alone. At least, the ones he knew about. Sweet Little Bit needed him, and he'd stay. It was that simple. The Host was out of his green skull.

The cigarette between his fingers slowly burned down to the filter, never touching Spike's lips.

He was just about to leave the penthouse when the door opened again. This time, it admitted Dawn. She was holding a small object in one hand, and when she saw Spike, she walked right over and sat down beside him. Spike smelled soap and shampoo and French toast about her.

"Hey," she said.

" 'Lo, Little Bit. What's the story?"

"I was looking for you." She handed him the object she'd been carrying, which turned out to be a small box wrapped in Sarah Anne's purple birthday wrapping paper. "I—I wanted to give you this."

"A present?" Spike questioned. Receiving a present from a human was a very odd sensation.

"Yeah. I just—I mean, it may be stupid, but it's kind of a thank-you, you know. For everything." She flushed deeply and gestured toward the gift. "Just open it."

Still a bit thunderstruck, Spike peeled away the wrapping paper to reveal . . .

Magnetic Poetry! And the deluxe edition, at that.

"Like it?" asked Dawn.

"Little Bit, I'm touched." And he genuinely was. "This is . . . this is quite the nicest thing anybody's done for me in a right long time."

Dawn seemed relieved to hear it. "I saw it at B. Dalton while we were shopping and kind of snuck it in while we were checking out. I mean, you've been having fun with Angel's set, and I thought maybe you'd like one of your own."

"Oh, I can do a lot of damage with this, Niblet. Thanks for thinkin' of me." He ruffled her hair.

"Why are you leaving poems for Cordy, anyway?" she asked. "Is it just to bug her or what?"

"Not exactly. See, she's got all her men so firmly under her thumb that none of them dares flirt with her. She's enjoying it more than she'll ever admit." Spike lit up a cigarette. "Besides, I never could resist any woman who belonged to Angel. 'Cept for Darla. Hated that bint."

Dawn's forehead crinkled. "But Cordy and Angel aren't together like that."

Spike barked a laugh. "They may not be together 'like that,' but that doesn't mean they don't belong to each other. Trust me on this, Little Bit. She may have him wrapped around her pretty little fingers, but he's got his hooks so deep into her she'll never be free. He knows what I'm doing, anyway."

Dawn was silent after that. Spike had the feeling she was working up the courage to tell him something, so he just waited.

Finally, she spoke, looking down at her hands. "Spike, can I tell you something? You promise you won't freak at me?"

"Do I freak at anything?"

"Good point." Still looking at her hands, she told him, "I've been writing to Buffy in my diary. Like letters to her or something. Julie said she thought that was okay, but anyway, one day, I was feeling so mad that I—I told Buffy I hated her. In my diary. I took it back, but . . ." She swallowed hard. "Do you think she knows? I know she's dead and all, but so are you. Do you think she'd understand?"

Spike blew out a long stream of smoke. "You kidding? She was one of the principles in the Ballad of Buffy and Angel. Do you think she wouldn't understand how close love and hate are? Of course she does, Little Bit." He took another drag on his cigarette, reflecting on his own past. "That's what family's about, you know. They're always in your heart. You love them, you hate them, and it's all the same thing in the end. They shape you. They're a part of you. You can never be free of them, no matter how you try. Hell, you can kill 'em off, but it won't do you any good. Your family's always in you, right down to the bone. 'Course Buffy knows you still love her, even when you hate her."

"Good," Dawn whispered, and she leaned on him, resting her head against his shoulder.

It took Spike by as much surprise as the present had. He wasn't quite sure what to do, so he just sat still. After a moment, he hesitantly moved his hand behind her, stroking the soft-as-silk hair falling down her back. She didn't respond, eyes distant.

After a few minutes, she stood, smiled a little goodbye, and left the penthouse. Spike was left sitting with a set of Magnetic Poetry in his lap and a burned-down cigarette in his hand, not at all sure of what it all meant.

***

Later that day, Dawn packed her duffel, anticipating Giles' arrival. She folded her clothes and placed them inside, followed by her toiletries, all sealed inside plastic bags. Her diary and book were set aside to be placed in the very top of the duffel in case she wanted them on the trip back. Just as she was about to zip up the bag, she caught sight of Buffy's shawl, laying across the foot of the bed.

She gathered it up. All week, she'd been wearing it around the hotel whenever she'd needed extra warmth, or whenever she was feeling especially lonely or scared. Now, she lifted it to her nose, inhaling Buffy's scent.

She remembered sitting on the couch with Buffy after their mother's death, watching an old movie as they both tried for something like normalcy in their insane world. Buffy had been wearing her shawl, and she'd wrapped Dawn in her arms and the shawl. Dawn had relaxed into her sister's embrace, eventually falling asleep like that. So safe, so warm, so loved . . .

With almost ritualistic care, Dawn folded the shawl, placed it in the top of the duffel, added her book and diary, and zipped the bag closed.

***

The afternoon wore on. Gunn sat down with Dawn, and the two of them quietly discussed their sisters. Wesley told Angel and Cordelia that Rebecca would be staying on for the summer, which surprised neither and pleased both. Spike came chuckling evilly out of the kitchen and told Cordelia he'd left a gift for her.

"Ooh, am I the luckiest girl in the world or what?" she deadpanned.

Finally, as afternoon shadows gave way to evening, Giles entered the hotel. Dawn was packed and ready to go, but Wesley drew Giles aside and into the office to tell him about Dawn's therapist and medications. The girl flopped back down on the couch beside Gunn.

"I'm sick of people talking about me," she grumbled.

"Aw, they just care about you," Gunn said. "You've got a lot of people on your side, Squirt. That's a good thing."

"I know," Dawn sighed. "I just wish I was normal."

"Yeah, don't we all." Gunn shared a grin with her.

Spike came into the lobby, wearing his leather coat (and pants), just as Giles and Wesley re-emerged.

"Dear Lord," murmured Giles.

"Did I mention Spike stayed the week, too?" asked Wesley.

" 'Lo, Rupes," said Spike, grinning. "We heading back now?"

"Shouldn't you use the car you came in to get back?" asked Angel.

Spike gave his elder a condescending look. "I abandoned it in an alley in Los Angeles. How much of it do you think is left?"

"Good point," conceded Angel.

Rebecca had stepped up to Giles and Wesley and waited patiently for the men to acknowledge her before offering a hand to Giles. "Hello, Mr. Giles. I'm Rebecca Martin-Pryce."

"My niece," said Wesley proudly.

"Pleased to meet you," Giles said, shaking her hand.

"I just wanted to tell you how much I admire you," the young woman said. "I'm planning on becoming a Watcher myself, actually, so we might be meeting again in the future. At least, I certainly hope so." She paused. "I also wanted to offer my sincerest condolences. As a Slayer-in-Waiting, I became very close to my Watcher, Madeleine St. Claire. I understand you were also very close to Miss Summers, and . . . I think that's the way it should be." Rebecca shook herself. "Listen to me go on. I'm very sorry for your loss. Miss Summers was a remarkable person."

Giles smiled a little through the pain. "She was indeed. Thank you, Miss Pryce."

Rebecca stepped back then. Giles looked at Dawn.

"I'm ready to go," the girl said. "Just need to say my good-byes."

"We've no rush, Dawn," said Giles. "We can leave anytime."

"Good," said Wesley, "because we've a small gift for Dawn."

"Really?" Dawn dropped her duffel and headed eagerly for Wesley. "What is it?"

Angel produced a flat package from behind his back and gave it to Dawn. "It's kind of silly."

Dawn ripped the wrapping paper off of what felt like a picture frame. It turned out to be a small plaque stating in calligraphic lettering:

THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT

__

Miss Dawn Summers

IS HEREBY NAMED A JUNIOR MEMBER OF

THE FANG GANG

Below that were five blanks bearing the signatures of Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Angel, and Rebecca. Underneath each signature was a job title.

"We came up with the job titles ourselves," Cordelia said. Dawn looked at them. Wesley's stated that he was the "Figurehead Leader," Cordelia's said, "Vision Girl and Fashion Maven," Gunn's was, "Prettyboy and Hired Muscle," Rebecca's was, "Obnoxiously Enthusiastic Intern," and Angel's stated simply, "Grunt." Dawn had to sit down, she was laughing so hard.

"Thanks, guys," she said when she finally was able to breathe again. "I'll keep this."

The girl then turned to Gunn, who gave her a rib-cracking bear hug. Rebecca and Dawn exchanged cheek-kisses, and Wesley kissed the teen's knuckles. Fred offered a shy embrace.

"Now, you be careful, sweet thing," the physicist admonished her. "Watch out for monsters, and remember the stars shine on even the darkest night."

Cordelia was next, enveloping Dawn in a long, loving hug. "Come back here anytime. Anytime. You're always welcome, Dawnie."

"I know." Dawn was sniffling just slightly, but wiped her eyes and bent down to hug Sarah Anne. Sandra was next.

The mother took Dawn's face in her hands. "Oh, sweetheart," Sandra said. "I wish I could take you with us. I'd take care of you, darling, darling girl. I would." She wrapped her arms around Dawn, who gave up on trying not to cry.

There is something universal about mothers, something ineffable in their feel or smell, and it enveloped Dawn along with Sandra's embrace. For a moment, Dawn imagined living across the country, away from demons and vampires and everything else, making a fresh start with a new mother and sister. The idea of it was so tempting she almost—almost—wanted to tell Giles she would just go to Virginia with Sandra and Sarah Anne, and could the Watchers handle the paperwork, please?

But there was too much Summers in Dawn to run away. She knew that even if she tried, she'd eventually come back, the way Buffy had.

"Give my love to my friends," Buffy had said. "You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other."

So Dawn pulled back from Sandra, away from the motherliness of her, and went to Angel. The strength and coolness of his body as he held her seemed to steady her, make her more resolute. The tears stopped.

"Will you be okay?" she asked the vampire.

"I'll try," he whispered. "Will you?"

"I'll try." She pulled back from him, picked up her duffel, and turned to Giles. "I'm ready."

"Then let's go," said Giles. "Spike?"

"What, don't I get any hugs?" the vampire asked.

***

After Spike, Dawn, and Giles left, Cordelia walked resolutely into the kitchen and looked at the refrigerator. The Magnetic Poetry, aided by a few slips of paper where Spike apparently couldn't find the word he wanted, read:

"There once was a girl from the city

Who was clever and funny and pretty

With her tight ass and tits

She gave all the boys fits

But ignored the best one, which was shitty"

"The grand finale," the Seer muttered. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the kitchen."

She left the kitchen and went back to the lobby, where she found Wesley and Gunn standing outside the office. Wesley gestured for her to join them.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Call it an instinct," said Wesley. He opened the door, and the three friends walked in together.

Angel was inside, and Cordelia drew in a breath when she saw him. He was standing, leaning on the desk, and his face was just . . . empty.

It was then that Cordelia realized why Wesley had been so worried about Angel burying himself in the case. Now, with the case finished and Spike and Dawn—especially Dawn—gone, there was nothing left to distract Angel from the pain he'd been keeping at bay. He looked up at the three who had just entered.

"She's gone," he said brokenly.

Wesley stepped forward, reached out a hand to lay on Angel's shoulder.

"We're here."

***

__

Dear Buffy,

Headed back to Sunnydale now. Giles and Spike are in the front arguing about whether Paul McCartney has written anything worth listening to in the last 20 years. I know Giles didn't want to have Spike in the front seat, but it's easier to write in the back. At least for me, it is.

I've got a therapist now. Cordy says it's very trendy of me. Julie's really nice, and she's good at believing stuff. She showed me this awful claw mark from a demon attacking her a few years ago. I showed her where Doc cut me. I'm gonna be on medication now, too. I took a Xanax today when I felt like I was going to start panicking again, and it really calmed me down. Julie says you sometimes need a little extra help, and I think I definitely do. I've been through a lot. But then, you know that. You've been through even more. It's awful, I know, but I've been thinking about it and wonder if that's why you were so calm about dying—because it would be the last thing you'd have to go through. I hope you're okay now. I hope you're with Mom.

I love you so much, Buffy. I do. Spike said you'd understand why I said I hated you, and I believe him. I'm gonna try to do what you asked and take care of the Scoobies, and I know they'll take care of me. They're the only family I've got left. Them and the Fang Gang. And Spike. We'll all take care of each other. For you.

I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.

***

Note: Okay, that's another wrap! Thanks for sticking with me, and if you enjoyed this fic, if it touched you in any way, please leave a review or write me directly at ksheasley@yahoo.com. I will never object to feedback from my readers.

Note II: Extra thanks to Gyrus for doing a solo beta of the epilogue while Tanja was gallivanting around China.

This fic brought to you by Magnetic Poetry, B. Dalton, Toys R Us, Kleenex, Coca-Cola, and the makers of Xanax and Paxil. Especially Paxil, as it's what this author uses to keep her own head on straight. 'Bye, now!


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